Long Road Home
by Supervillegirl
Summary: AU! John finds a homeless kid in an alley and buys him a meal, but can this kid help bridge the broken Winchester family together again? Angst!Dean.
1. Chapter 1

"Long Road Home"

Chapter One

Set in November 2005

John Winchester walked through the bar in Eaten, Ohio, heading for a man seated in the corner. The man had a lead on the demon who had killed his wife Mary, and John was eager for the intel. He would rather be working another case, but if he couldn't make any headway on that, he would avenge the killer of his sons' mother.

The case he'd rather be working on was his son's. John had come back from a hunt after receiving a terrified phone call from his youngest son.

_John looked at his caller ID while trying to research the werewolf he was hunting._

_Rolling his eyes, John answered it. "What is it, Sam?"_

"_Dad…" came seven-year-old Sam's hyperventilating voice. "It's…I'm sorry…I—"_

_John was instantly tense. Something was wrong._

"_Sam, calm down," John soothed him. "Take a breath. Tell me what's wrong."_

_Sam hyperventilated a couple more times. "It's Dean."_

_John's eyes widened. With how Sam was acting, this could not be good. "What about Dean? Where is he?"_

_Sam hesitated. "I don't know."_

_John's heart stopped right then. "What do you mean you don't know where he is?"_

"_We went to the diner next door for lunch, and he told me to go straight back to the motel," Sam said in a rush. "He said he would be right back. I haven't seen him in four hours."_

_John immediately began packing his bags and research. "Sam, stay there. I'll be right back."_

_John thanked whatever deity was out there that he was only three towns away._

John had returned to the motel to find Sam crying on the floor next to the boys' bed. John had left no stone unturned trying to find Dean, but who—or whatever—had taken him had left no trail.

That was fifteen years ago, and John still hadn't found his eldest son. He had raised Sam on his own while the two of them hunted for the missing Winchester. They still worked cases they ran into, but most of their time was spent searching for Dean. Sam was now twenty-two, which would make Dean twenty-six.

John shook his head in amazement as he headed through the bar. Dean, wherever he was—if he was even alive, had missed fifteen years of his life.

John settle down at the table where the man was sitting.

"What do you have, Paul?" asked John.

"That's how you deal with your informant?" said Paul. "No offer to buy me a drink?"

"I'm busy," said John. "There are other things I should be doing, but I took the time to hear this."

"Well, then, fine," said Paul. "Go take care of that other stuff."

"Come on, Paul," said John. "I need this info."

"Why? It's not gonna bring her back."

John's jaw clenched. "That demon killed her. He needs to die."

"And what about whatever took Dean?" asked Paul. "Doesn't it deserve to die?"

John glared at him, not wanting to talk about it. "Shut up."

"So Mary's murder gets the attention, but Dean's disappearance just gets pushed to the side?"

John leaned over the table and punched Paul across the face. Paul toppled to the floor as the bar patrons froze at the commotion.

Paul climbed to his feet, glaring at John. "Oh, that's how it's gonna be, Winchester?"

Paul grabbed John and pulled him from his seat, throwing him across the bar. John hit the floor, but jumped back up, hitting Paul a few more times. John kicked him through the back door, and they tumbled into an alley. John hit him a few more times before Paul began backing away from him.

"That temper's gonna get you in trouble one day," said Paul.

"Get out of here, you dick!" John yelled.

"I hope you never find him," said Paul. "He's probably dead already."

Paul ran out of the alley, but John just stood there. That last sentence had hit just a little too close to home. That was, after all, what John had begun thinking recently.

"Don't mind him."

John frowned and looked over at the alley wall to see a kid in about his twenties sitting on the ground, staring at his feet. The kid was wearing dirty black sweatpants with a few tears in them. He wore one tattered black tennis shoe and one blue, faded Nike. He wore no socks. He also wore a filthy, white t-shirt and dirty, huge camo jacket. The kid had light brown hair about the length of Sam's hair that sat in a mess on top of his head. He had stubble that looked to be a couple weeks old.

"What?" John asked.

The kid looked up at him, frowning for a moment when he saw John's face, but then he shook his head. "Paul treats everyone like that."

John smiled. "Is that so?"

"Yeah," he said, looking back down at his feet.

John noticed the kid was shaking. "You okay?"

The kid nodded. "I'm fine."

John stepped closer. "Kid, you're freezing." He didn't blame him. It was November, and the kid didn't have anything warm on.

"I'll be fine," the kid insisted.

"You're turning blue," John told him.

The kid gave what seemed like a bitter chuckle. "Believe me, I've dealt with worse."

John was close enough to see the kid properly. He was skin and bones. "When was the last time you ate?"

The kid shrugged. "I don't know."

"Well, come on, I'll buy you dinner," said John.

The kid looked up at him with a smirk. "Well, you are handsome, but I don't swing that way."

John laughed. "You know what I mean." The kid looked back down at his feet. "How 'bout it? I bet you're starving."

Just then, the kid's stomach rumbled. John and he laughed a little.

"Sure sounds like you are," said John.

"No, it's okay," said the kid. "You don't have to."

"I want to," said John. "It's just…" He was silent for a moment, and the kid looked up at him. "You remind me of my son."

John couldn't really explain it, but there was something about this kid that reminded him of Dean.

"What do you say?" asked John.

The kid smiled. "Uh…okay."

John held his hand out. "John."

The kid offered his own hand, and John pulled him to his feet. "Tom."

"Nice to meet you," said John. "Come on. There's a diner across the street."

"What about your car?" asked Tom.

"I'll get it later," said John.

He led Tom across the road and into the diner. The other patrons turned up their noses at Tom as the two of them took a seat at a booth.

A waitress walked over to them. "What can I get you two?"

"Two waters and two coffees – black," said John. He looked at Tom. "Know what you want yet?"

Tom was staring at the menu choices in amazement. He looked up at John. "Is everything okay?"

John laughed and looked up at the waitress. "What do you suggest?"

"Well, we make a pretty mean bacon cheeseburger," she said.

"Ooh, that," said Tom with a smile.

"Alright," she said with a laugh. "Anything else?"

"Fries, definitely fries," said Tom. "And—" He looked up at John, suddenly shy. "Just those two is fine."

"You can order anything you want," said John. "I've got plenty of money."

Or—at least—the fake guy on his card had enough money.

Tom smiled, looking at the waitress. "And the chicken wings. And the pie."

"Which flavor?" asked the waitress.

Tom frowned, looking down at his choices.

"One of each," said John. Tom smiled in gratitude. "And I'll have the bacon cheeseburger with fries."

"Okay," said the waitress, leaving.

"Thank you," said Tom.

"No problem," said John.

They chatted about random things while waiting for their food. They found out that they both liked classic rock and had a thing for cars. Before long, their drinks and food were brought out.

Tom latched onto his glass of water, draining it in a minute. John watched sadly as he dug into his own meal. Tom grabbed the burger and took a big bite out of it.

"Mm," said Tom. "This is the best burger ever!"

John laughed as Tom stuffed a few fries into his mouth.

"Hey, slow down," said John. "You'll make yourself sick."

Tom looked up at him and swallowed. "Sorry."

John waved it off, and the rest of the meal was spent in silence. Then the pie came.

"You still have room?" asked John as three pieces of pie—an apple, a cherry, and a chocolate—were set on the table.

"There's always room for pie," said Tom. He pulled the chocolate one to him and took a bite of it. He moaned as he closed his eyes. "Mm. I love me some pie."

John laughed again as he watched Tom enjoy the pie. When the last bite was gone, Tom sat back.

"Ugh," said Tom. "I can't remember the last time I was this full."

John smiled. "Glad to hear it."

"So what was your deal with Paul?" asked Tom.

"I needed some information from him, but he just kept pushing my buttons," said John.

Tom smirked. "Yeah. He can do that."

"So, what's your story?" asked Tom. He shook his head, looking down at his hands. "Never mind. That's none of my business."

Tom looked down at the table as John stared at him, thinking.

"My son and I are in town working," John explained.

"The one I remind you of?" asked Tom.

John shook his head. "No, it's my youngest."

"What kind of work?" asked Tom.

"We, uh…we help people," said John, not wanting to give out the truth.

"Like cops?" asked Tom.

John smiled. "Something like that."

"Huh," shrugged Tom. "Sounds mysterious and exciting."

John laughed. "Well, it certainly is mysterious."

Tom smiled, nodding as he rested his elbows on the table. "How'd you get into that?"

John looked down at the table. "My wife…died in a fire a while back. I wanted to make sure something like that couldn't happen to anyone else."

Tom looked at the table. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," said John. "What about you? Where's your family?"

Tom's hand twitched slightly, causing the fork next to it to clatter against the plate it was resting on. "I, uh…I don't really know. My mom died when I was a kid, and I ran away a while back. Lately, I've been trying to find the rest of my family, but, so far…nothing."

"Well, I'm sure they're looking for you," John told him.

Tom nodded. "Yeah…" He shook his head a little. "So,it's just you and your son? What happened to your other son?"

John looked him in the eye for a moment. "He was…taken…when he was a kid. We've been searching for him ever since. So, yeah, it's just me and Sam."

Tom's eyes seemed to widen as he stared at John. "Sam?"

"Yeah," said John. "That's my youngest son's name: Sam. He, uh…was named for his grandfather." John smiled at the memory, laughing a little. "But…Dean, on the other hand, was named for his grandmother."

John watched as Tom's expression grew stunned as his gaze darted to the window next to them, searching for something. Once Tom's eyes got locked on whatever it was, John followed his gaze to his black 1967 Chevy Impala sitting in the bar's parking lot across the street.

"Good eye," said John, looking back at Tom. "It's mine."

"'67?" asked Tom, still staring at the Impala.

"Yeah," said John. "Beauty, isn't she?"

Tom's gaze flew towards John, staring at him in shock.

"Are you alright?" asked John.

"John…and Sam…" began Tom, trying to force the words out. "Winchester?"

John frowned, wondering how he knew that. "Yeah…"

Tom's eyes widened further. "And Mary…was killed by a demon on the ceiling of Sam's nursery on November 2, 1983?"

John leaned back in his seat, starting to get on the defensive. "How do you know all that?"

If it was possible, Tom's eyes grew wider, and fear and—dare John say, hope—filled Tom's face.

"Dad?" asked Tom.

John frowned, staring at Tom's face…at his chiseled jaw, at his freckles spattered across his nose and cheeks, at the green, vibrant eyes staring back at him…

"Dean?" said John.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

_No, it couldn't be…_

He had thought it at first when he saw his face, but it was different than he remembered. John's face had always been clean-shaven. Now, his beard had grown out. He also had a few scars that Dean didn't remember. So Dean had dismissed it. It wasn't possible that after all of his searching, his father had just stumbled upon him.

Dean kept dismissing it until all the details lined up. I mean, how many guys who fit his father's description were named John Winchester with a son named Sam and an older son named Dean with a wife named Mary who died on the ceiling in a fire caused by a demon in Sam's nursery on November 2, 1983?

Dean was not ready for this. He had hoped to find his family and then fix himself up. John counted on him to be the hunter of the family, the protector, the perfect son. He never wanted his father to see him like this…weak…broken…vulnerable. Dean wanted desperately to explain himself to John before he started yelling about Dean's appearance. But all he could do was sit in stunned silence.

"Dean, is that you?" asked John with wide eyes.

Dean stared at him, not wanting to disappoint his father. He felt hope rise in him at finally finding his father, but he also felt other emotions warring in him: fear, panic and emotional exhaustion.

John opened his mouth to say more, but Dean bolted up from his seat, spinning towards the door.

"Dean!" John called after him.

Dean didn't stop, not wanting to face his past and the present moment. Dean threw open the door and darted into the parking lot, rushing across the pavement.

"Dean, wait!" John yelled.

Dean could hear him throw open the door, following him. Dean tried to run, but he knew it was useless. He had a full stomach weighing him down, and John had kept in shape over the years. Dean hadn't hunted in fifteen years. But Dean just couldn't stop and face him. John would have to run him down.

"Dean, stop!" John ordered.

Dean could feel his mind snapping to attention, but he couldn't follow orders this time. It was the first time Dean had disobeyed a direct order from his father, but he didn't care. He pumped his legs as hard as he could, pushing his body for all he had. He did not want to face whatever would happen when his father caught up with him. He thought he was ready to be with his family, but when he discovered he'd actually found them, all the memories from the past fifteen years came flooding back. If he came back to his family, they would want to know what happened. And Dean just couldn't go through that again.

Dean could hear John gaining on him as they reached the field next to the diner. Dean's breath was coming harder and harder, his throat threatening to close up as the sobs began to come. This was it: the moment he'd dreaded for the past three years.

Dean was tackled to the ground, John's arms wrapped around him.

"No!" Dean yelled, fighting against his father.

John backed off and put his hands on Dean's shoulders to keep him in place.

"Dean, why were you running?" asked John.

Dean looked up into his eyes. John's eyes suddenly widened, and he reached a hand forward, wiping his thumbs across Dean's face. Dean hadn't realized he'd started crying. Dean looked away from John in shame. John leaned forward and threw his arms around Dean.

Big mistake…

Dean stiffened as John innocently hugged him close to his body. Dean's mind instantly brought forth those horrible memories.

"No!" Dean yelled, struggling against John.

Startled, John pulled away from Dean. Dean backed away from John, bringing his arms around his torso. He curled into a fetal position, his body reacting like it always did when the pain came. Dean slammed his eyes closed, waiting for the beating.

"Dean…" John whispered sadly.

John's voice hit Dean, and reality crashed back to him. He opened his eyes, slowly sitting up and avoiding John's eyes.

_Nice,_ Dean thought. _Way to look even more weak in front of him._

John slowly inched towards him on his knees, reaching a hand towards Dean's shoulder.

"Dean, it's me," said John very cautiously. "It's Dad."

Dean nodded shakily, staring at John. He didn't look angry or disappointed at how Dean had turned out. Suddenly scared that it was all a dream, Dean reached a hand to John's hand on his shoulder. It felt solid…real…

"Dad?" said Dean.

John smiled, gripping his shoulder tighter. "Yeah, Dean, it's me."

Dean could tell his father wanted badly to hug him, but he appreciated John's restraint in the matter. He clearly was not ready for human contact.

"I'm sorry, Dean," said John. Dean frowned as he stared at him. There were tears in John's eyes. "I'm so sorry."

Dean shook his head. "Not your fault."

"I should've been there for you," said John. A tear ran down his face. "I should've protected you."

"You couldn't have done anything," said Dean.

"Dean, is…is what you said true?" asked John. He looked afraid of the answer. "Did you really run away that day?"

Dean looked up at him, his face still a little spooked. "No."

John nodded. "So you **were **taken?"

Dean hesitated and nodded.

"What was it?" asked John, eager for some payback.

Dean flinched and looked down at his hands, breathing heavier.

John placed a gentle yet firm hand on Dean's other shoulder. "Never mind." Dean looked up at him. "You don't have to tell me until you're ready."

Dean nodded, grateful that he understood.

John let Dean's shoulders go and held his hand out. "What do you say we get you cleaned up and you can get some rest?"

Dean grasped John's hand, and the two of them stood up. John looked him up and down.

"Damn, kid," said John with a smile. "You grew up big." Dean laughed. "Not as big as Sam, but…"

Dean's smile faded. "Sam?"

John seemed to understand Dean's hesitancy about being around family all at once. "He'd out researching at the library. He'll be back in a few hours."

Dean nodded, relaxing. It wasn't that he didn't want to be around Sammy. He couldn't wait to see that kid. It was just too much all at once. He was still uneasy around his father.

John and Dean began heading towards the parking lot of the bar side-by-side. When they reached the blacktop, Dean's eyes lit up, and a smile began to appear on his face. He slowed down as he reached the Impala. His eyes roamed over her, taking in her curves and angles. He reached a hand out towards her trunk, running it over the smooth black metal. He walked around, running his hand towards the cab and up onto the roof. He had not seen her in fifteen years and had no idea how much he'd missed her until that moment.

He heard a chuckle next to him and turned his head to see John smiling.

Dean smiled. "I never thought I'd see her again."

He hoped his father caught his double meaning that he also never thought he'd see him again either.

Dean looked back at the Impala. "I'm glad I was wrong."

"Me, too," said John. Dean turned and smiled at him. "Hop in."

Dean slowly opened the passenger door as John walked around toward the driver's side. Dean slid into the seat, closing the door. He settled into the leather seat, relaxing at the feeling of finally being home. He smiled as he gazed at the dashboard in nostalgia.

John closed his door, looking at Dean with a smile. He started the car, and Dean closed his eyes as the engine hummed to life. He opened them as John pulled out of the space and onto the road. Dean relaxed into his seat as the Impala tore down the road.

After a few minutes of silence, Dean was staring at his hands. He wanted to explain to his dad why he had run at first. He was sure his father felt hurt about that.

"I'm sorry," said Dean suddenly.

John glanced over at him while keeping his eyes on the road. "Sorry for what?"

"You must be so disappointed," said Dean. "I didn't want you to see me like that. Vulnerable…wrecked…weak…"

"Hey," said John. Dean looked at him. "You are not weak. For having gone through what you did…I mean, I don't know what happened or what you had to deal with…but to come out of it with your same cocky attitude intact…"

Dean smiled.

"That is the best description of strong I have ever heard of," said John. "I am so proud of you."

John gave him a smile, one Dean hadn't seen since before his mother died. It was a smile full of hope.

"And I promise you…nothing is gonna happen to you ever again," said John.

Dean smiled again. "Thanks." He looked out the windshield to see them pulling up to a house. He stiffened in his seat. "Where are we?"

"Sam and I had a few hunts in this area, so we rented a house," John quickly told him.

Dean nodded as John parked the car. Dean climbed out of the car, and John locked it. John led him toward the front door, unlocking it. Dean walked inside, looking around the living room. It was…homey. Not decorated or heavily furnished, but…it was definitely better than where he'd been the past fifteen years. John closed the front door and walked towards Dean.

"It's not much, but—" began John.

"It's perfect," said Dean.

John looked around awkwardly. "Well, uh…we got an extra room upstairs. It's across from Sam's room, so…"

Dean headed over to the couch, where a duffel bag lay open. Clothes were half strewn out of the bag, like someone had been searching through it. Plaid button-down shirts, white t-shirts, white wife-beaters, and a few pairs of jeans lay scattered on the couch, but one item in particular caught his eye.

Dean stepped up to the couch, reaching a hand to grasp a brown cargo jacket. It was child-sized and worn in some places. There was also a large tear from the right shoulder down to the right pocket. Dean's jaw dropped as he brought the jacket towards him, clutching it in his hands.

_I can't believe they still have this,_ Dean thought.

"We found that in the lot behind the diner," John said quietly from behind Dean's shoulder. "Sam never gave it up."

Dean had recognized it at once: the jacket he'd been wearing when he was taken. He had shed it in hopes that his father could use it to find him later.

_Sam kept this? _Dean wondered.

He brought it up to his face, catching a whiff of gun oil. He smiled as he remembered that he'd spilled gun oil on it that morning while cleaning a shotgun for practice.

_And he hasn't washed it since._

Dean could imagine his little brother pulling this jacket out of his bag on those hard days, holding it close because it smelled like him.

"I don't think I really tried to take it away," said John. "It was the only thing he had of you…that we had of you."

Dean had wanted to discard the jacket when he saw it; it brought back memories of the day he was ripped from his family. But when Dean heard how special it was to his brother, he never wanted to let it go. He pulled it closer to his chest, wrapping his arms around it.

"Do you want to get cleaned up?" asked John.

Dean looked at him and nodded. John led him up the stairs and down the hallway. He walked into a room on their right as Dean stood in the doorway.

_Sam's room…_ Dean realized.

A laptop sat on the unkempt bed with a few lore books. An empty duffel bag sat in the corner, and clothes hung in the open closet. As Dean's eyes scanned the room, they found the dresser. What made Dean's heart stop was a framed picture sitting on top of it.

The picture was eleven-year-old Dean and seven-year-old Sam sitting on the hood of the Impala, arms around each other and smiles on their faces. It was about a month before Dean was taken.

John pulled a long-sleeved black shirt and some gray cotton pants from the closet and headed over to Dean.

"You can borrow Sam's clothes," said John. "Until we can buy you your own, of course."

"Thanks," said Dean as he accepted the clothes.

John headed directly across the hall to an empty bedroom. It was already furnished with a bed—no sheets—and a dresser.

"This will be your room," said John. "I'll get your sheets while you're washing up."

Dean nodded, and John led him to a bathroom next to Sam's room.

"We have soap and shampoo…anything you might need," said John.

"Thanks, Dad," said Dean with a smile. "This is great."

John nodded, and an awkward moment passed before John spoke up.

"Well…I'll just…be going," said John, quickly heading down the hallway.

Dean entered the bathroom, locking the door and jamming the cabinet door against it for good measure. It wasn't that he didn't trust his dad. He was just in an unfamiliar place in a soon-to-be-vulnerable state. One baby step at a time…

Dean peeled his clothes off and turned the shower on. He grabbed a bar of soap, a bottle of shampoo and a towel from the cabinet and stepped into the shower after putting the towel on the closed toilet seat cover.

"Ah…" Dean moaned.

The warm water felt so good. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a shower that wasn't cold. Over the past three years, he'd taken to sneaking into homes and motel rooms. He would only use cold water so they wouldn't notice the lack of hot water. He wasn't an idiot. His father had always taught him to never leave any sign of his presence.

Dean stood under the spray of the water, letting the warmth soak into his skin. When the water grew lukewarm, he began cleaning himself. When he was finished, he grabbed the towel from the toilet lid and dried off. He grabbed the pants and pulled them on.

Dean stared at the pants hem bunched at his feet. _How tall __**is**__ Sammy?_

Dean searched the drawers and cabinets until he found a pair of scissors. He set about cutting his hair. When he was finished, his hair was only about four or five inches long. It wasn't as short as he used to wear it as a kid, but at least it wasn't down to his chin now.

Dean now grabbed a can of shaving cream and a clean razor, and he shaved his beard off. When he was finished, he grabbed the black shirt, about to put it on. He stopped, looking at his image in the mirror. Scars lined his torso, stretching every which way. He was glad his father had given him pants and long sleeves. He didn't want his father to see what the last fifteen years had done to him…not ever.

Dean pulled the shirt on and grabbed everything: his dirty clothes and the small, torn jacket that he hadn't had the heart o put down. He walked down towards his new bedroom, seeing John had made the bed with clean sheets. John was now putting a few pairs of clothes into the dresser and closet. He was now holding a belt in his hand, getting rid to put it in also.

Dean's eyes widened as he stared at the belt hanging from John's hand. His hands went numb, and he dropped everything he was holding.

John looked up at him. "Dean, what's wrong?"

Dean didn't hear him; his eyes were on the belt. The belt meant business. The belt meant punishment.

John took a step towards Dean. "What is it?"

Dean saw the man with the belt coming towards him, and he darted back away from him, his back hitting the wall behind him.

John froze in his steps, following Dean's gaze towards the belt. John realized it was the belt that triggered Dean's reaction, and he tossed it into the corner behind him.

Dean's eyes followed the belt in to the corner. He couldn't believe this was happening again…he thought he'd gotten away…

"Dean!" said John.

Dean's eyes darted up to John, truly seeing him.

"Dean, it's me," said John softly. "Nothing is going to happen to you."

Dean looked from John to the belt and back again. He relaxed against the wall, putting a hand to his face. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," said John. "You're gonna be okay now."

Dean nodded shakily.

"You alright?" asked John.

Dean nodded quickly. "I'll be fine."

"You get some sleep now, okay?" asked John.

Dean nodded again and bent to pick up his things. John quickly grabbed the belt and took it out of the room, tossing it back into Sam's room. Dean tossed his dirty old clothes into the corner and laid the jacket on the dresser. He looked up at John, who had walked back into the room.

John raised a hand and placed it on Dean's shoulder. "You look younger without the beard."

Dean laughed a little.

"You know…" began John. He hesitated a moment, but decided to go on. "You look so much like your mother."

Dean was stunned to hear him say that, but it made him smile. John withdrew his hand and walked to the doorway, looking back at him.

"I'll wake you when Sam gets back," John told him.

"Okay," said Dean.

John closed the door behind him, and Dean climbed under the covers on the bed. He lay there for a few moments, but he could not get to sleep. Despite the fact that he was finally home, he felt so alone. He still didn't have his Sammy.

Dean got up from the bed and grabbed the jacket, climbing back into bed and cradling the jacket close to him under the covers. The jacket still smelled like gun oil a little, but having been used as Sam's anchor for so many years, it now had a new smell…a small Dean somehow instantly knew was Sam.

Dean let the comforting smell pull him into sleep.

******************************************SN*********************************************

John sat in the living room three hours later, still staring at the floor. He couldn't believe he'd found his son. The kid looked like he had been through hell. And his reactions to normal things—touch, that belt—led John to believe he'd had a traumatic childhood. But just what had happened?

The front door opened, and Sam walked into the house, locking the door behind him and fixing the salt line.

"Hey," said Sam, walking into the living room. "The library was a bust, so I went to county records. Turns out, it wasn't Jaime King who killed herself. So the spirit must be someone else. I could've sworn it was her. It looked so much like her, but we're gonna have to keep…looking…" Sam stared at his father, who hadn't moved since he'd walked in. Something was wrong. "Dad?"

John looked up at his son, his face full of despair and exhaustion.

"What's going on, Dad?" asked Sam. "Did Paul have any information?"

John chuckled about how this night started out as simply as retrieving information.

"Dad, is something wrong?" asked Sam.

John's laughter faded slowly as he stared at Sam. He didn't know how to drop this bomb.

"Sam…" John began. He took a breath and then decided to wait a moment. "You might want to sit down for this."

Sam frowned, heading over to a recliner across from the couch. "Dad, tell me what it is."

John took another breath. "Sam…" He waited a moment, watching as Sam's eyes widened in expectation and told him to get on with it. He decided to just get it over with.

"I found Dean."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Sam couldn't believe his ears. He'd hardly expected to come home to this. He'd expected to return to the house to discuss the case with his father, but his father had dumped this news on him.

"What do you mean, you found Dean?" asked Sam.

"I mean, he's upstairs right now," John told him.

Sam's eyes widened as his gaze flew to the stairs. The brother he hadn't seen in fifteen years was only one staircase away…

Sam jolted up from the couch, intent on charging up those stairs and reuniting with Dean.

"He's sleeping," John quickly told him.

Sam froze, torn between seeing his long-lost brother and letting him sleep.

_What kind of person doesn't go see their brother when they are finally found? _Sam thought.

He terribly wanted to go wake him up and hug the life out of him.

"I told him I'd wake him when you got here," said John. Sam looked at him. "I need to talk to you first."

Sam nodded, knowing that whatever his father had to say was very important regarding Dean. He sat back down on the couch. "You're sure it's him?"

"Positive," said John.

"How'd you find him?" asked Sam.

"Well, Paul kept pushing my buttons, and we ended up in a fight in the back alley," John explained. "He ran off, and this kid started talking to me. He was wearing old, dirty clothes; his hair was messy; he was skin and bones…And I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but he just reminded me of Dean. So I offered to buy him dinner. After we ate, it just kind of all came out, and we figured out who the other was."

John shook his head sadly. "The way he reacted, Sam…He took off out of that diner. I finally caught up to him, and he…" John winced. "God, Sammy, he was wrecked…terrified. I asked if he wanted to come home and he said yes."

"Has he said anything?" asked Sam, eager to know what had happened.

John shook his head. "All he told me was that he was taken. When I asked what took him, he…he looked spooked. It must've been a horrible son of a bitch. As soon as we find out what it was, I'm hunting it down personally."

"So, it was a creature?" asked Sam. "Like, some supernatural monster?"

"Well, what else would want to kidnap Dean?" asked John.

"You know, people can be just as evil as anything we've ever hunted," said Sam.

"But Dean can handle himself against humans," said John. "It had to have been a demon or something. I mean, the way he reacts…he won't let anyone hardly touch him. And when I had a belt in my hand…he zoned out or something. Wouldn't calm down until I took it out of the room. I'm just warning you…he's not the some brother you knew."

Sam nodded, preparing himself for what he was about to see.

"Just…don't hug him, okay?" said John.

"Okay," Sam nodded.

John led Sam up the stairs and to the bedroom across from Sam's.

John turned to Sam. "Wait here."

Sam nodded and stood against the wall next to the door. John opened the door and walked inside slowly. He saw that Dean was still asleep, curled on his side facing the wall. His legs were resting almost against his chest. John froze halfway into the room.

_He looks so small…_ John thought. _Like when he was a kid…_

John felt a pang of heartbreak rip through him. He never got to watch Dean grow up. He never got to be a part of his childhood. He never got to wish him luck on his first date, never taught him how to drive, never took him to get his driver's license, never watched him graduate, never even got to have the dreaded "facts of life" talk. John had missed so many milestones in Dean's life.

John swallowed back the tears and continued towards the bed. He sat on the edge of it, placing a gentle hand on Dean's shoulder.

"Dean," said John.

Dean moaned and rolled his shoulders and head towards John, revealing the jacket he'd been clutching. John smiled when he saw that small similarity between his boys.

"Dean, wake up," said John.

Dean moved his head back and forth, and then did what John was expecting. Dean jolted on the bed as his eyes flew open, and he began trying to get away from John.

John held onto Dean's shoulder. "Dean, it's me. You're safe."

Dean fully woke up, looking at John and the room around him. It made Sam almost start crying to hear his big brother sounding so scared. Dean relaxed, bringing his hand up to rub his eyes.

"Sorry," said Dean.

"It's okay," said John.

Dean pulled his back up against the headboard, grabbing the jacket and holding it to his chest.

"I told you I'd wake you when Sam got home," said John.

Dean nodded, looking towards the doorway with eager eyes.

"You ready to see him?" asked John.

Dean looked at him, without hesitation. "Yeah. Yeah, I wanna see him."

John turned his head towards the door. "Sam, can you come in here?"

Dean looked towards the doorway, waiting. Sam took a deep breath and walked into the doorway. He gazed with wide eyes at his brother, who stared right back at him.

"Sammy?" said Dean with a shaky breath.

It was amazing how that one word, said with such familiar concern and sentiment, hit Sam right in the heart. He would have collapsed to the floor if he hadn't started moving right then. He slowly made his way to the bed, taking John's place on the bedside.

"Dean…" said Sam, unable to figure out what to say.

Dean looked Sam up and down. "Damn, kid, how did you get so big?"

Sam laughed, looking down to see **the** jacket in Dean's arms. Sam stared at it, reaching a hand out to touch it. Dean watched as Sam ran his fingers along the tear in it.

"You remember this?" asked Sam, looking up at Dean.

Dean looked at him. "Yeah, I remember it." He ran his hands over it. "You never threw it away."

Sam nodded. "I couldn't. I just couldn't do it. It felt too much like abandoning you."

Dean looked down at the jacket, setting it aside. "Well, now you don't need it."

Sam frowned as Dean pulled the blanket over his shaking arms. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," said Dean. "I'm fine."

"Dean, please, what's wrong?" asked Sam.

"Nothing's wrong," said Dean sheepishly. "I'm just a little cold."

"I'll go get my hoodie," said Sam, standing up.

"Sam, you don't have to—" started Dean.

"No, it's okay," said Sam. "I'll be right back."

"Sam—" began Dean, but Sam was already out the door. Dean sighed, looking at John, who stood against the wall. "You guys don't have to do this, you know."

"Do what?" asked John.

"Over-spoil," said Dean. Sam returned with the black hoodie, watching Dean as he talked. "Just be yourselves. You don't have to be so nice." John gave him a wry smile. "You know what I mean. You don't have to try so hard to make me comfortable." He looked at Sam and John with a smile. "I'm home." He stumbled on that last word. He didn't know he would ever get to say that again. "I'm already comfortable."

Sam nodded, holding up the hoodie. "Then I guess you don't want this?"

Dean looked at it. "Oh, no, I want that. I'm freezing my ass off."

Sam laughed loudly, hardly expecting such a cocky answer. Apparently, Dean was tougher than he expected. Sam tossed the hoodie over to Dean, who put it on.

"Thanks, Sammy," said Dean, climbing to his feet.

"You boys want some dessert or something?" asked John.

"Yeah," said Sam and Dean at the same time.

"Well, Dean, what do you want?" asked John.

"Uh…well, I don't want to be the one to…" Dean began, not sure how to voice his discomfort with the spotlight.

Sam knew exactly what his brother needed. "How about some pie? We got some left over in the fridge."

Dean looked at him, sending him a grateful smile.

"Sounds good," said John, leaving the room.

Sam looked at Dean. "I remember how much you loved pie."

Dean laughed. "Some things never change, Sammy."

Sam followed Dean down to the kitchen and dining room as John put pieces of pie on three plates. As Sam and Dean sat at the table, John started chuckling.

"What is it?" asked Sam.

"This is, like, Dean's fourth piece of pie in four hours," said John.

"What can I say?" said Dean. "I'm hungry."

Sam looked over at Dean's gaunt face and thin arms. "I can believe that."

Dean didn't eat his whole piece, still kind of full from dinner. As Sam finished his piece, he tried to make small talk.

"So…" began Sam, "do you still like classic rock?"

Dean smiled, nodding. "Yeah, I do."

"And classic cars?" asked Sam.

Dean laughed. "Yeah, still like the classics."

They all remembered when Dean used to have little models of classic cars stuffed randomly in his duffle when he was, like, eight.

"You…haven't really changed much, have you?" asked Sam.

"No…not really," said Dean. "Except for growing up…no, I haven't."

"That's good," said Sam. "It's just…it's kind of weird. I remember you being this protective kid covered in freckles who would sleep in my bed when I had nightmares. And now…now you're an adult, and…it's almost like you're a different person."

Dean put his hand on Sam's arm. "It's still me. I'm still Dean."

Sam smiled. "I know. It'll just take some time. I feel like I have to get to know you all over again."

"Same here," said Dean. "I mean, you were this little runt. When did you get so big?"

Sam laughed, looking at his father. "It was about, what, sixteen?"

John smiled. "Yeah, sixteen. You should have seen it. He hit his growth spurt. He was so clumsy for, like, a year straight. He finally grew into his body his senior year."

The three of them laughed together.

"There was one time when we were chasing a werewolf through the woods," John went on. "We were trying to get close enough to shoot it. Sam tripped over his own feet, his gun went off, and the werewolf dropped dead!" The three of them laughed again. "It was the luckiest hunt I'd ever seen!"

Their laughter died down after a while.

"So, you guys have been hunting?" asked Dean. Sam nodded. "You guys find the thing that killed Mom?"

John sadly shook his head. "We **have** been looking, but most of our time was spent searching for you."

Dean nodded, looking down at the table. "If I could have gotten away from him sooner, I would have."

"Him?" asked Sam, leaning forward a little more.

Dean froze and then winced. It was obvious that he hadn't meant to let that slip. He thought about it for a moment and realized there was no point in hiding what took him.

"Uh…" began Dean, "the guy who took me at the diner."

"Guy?" said John. "It wasn't a monster or a demon?"

Dean slowly shook his head. "No…it was a guy. A normal…average…bastard of a human."

"What happened?" asked Sam. "How'd you get away?"

Dean stared at the table, his eyes becoming unfocused, and a far-off look entered his eyes. If Sam didn't know any better, he'd say those were tears beginning to form in Dean's eyes.

Dean coughed a little, getting to his feet. "I'm beat. I'm gonna head upstairs and get some sleep."

Dean turned and headed for the stairs, walking up to his new room. Sam looked over at John.

"What do you think that was?" asked Sam. "I mean, he got away from whoever it was. Shouldn't he be proud of that?"

John looked sadly back at Sam. "I don't think the last fifteen years have been as cut-n-dry as we think they were."

*********************************************************************************SN******************************************************************************

Dean lay in his bed with his door closed, clutching the jacket close to him. His legs were pulled up almost to his chest once again as he tried to get some sleep. He knew it was cruel to leave Sam and John hanging like that, but he just couldn't tell them what had happened. He wasn't ready to face it.

A knock came at the door, and Dean closed his eyes as the door opened.

"Dean?" asked Sam. He walked into the room as Dean pretended to be asleep. "Dean, you awake?"

Dean didn't give a response, but just lay there, hoping Sam would think he was asleep. Sam walked over, and Dean felt him lay a hand on his shoulder.

"I wish I could take the memories away," said Sam. "Whatever happened…I wish I could take the nightmares away…"

They both heard the unspoken: _Like you used to take mine away..._

Dean would always climb into Sam's bed to scare the kid's nightmares away. It was what brothers did: they protected their siblings.

Sam suddenly lifted the blanket away from the bed and climbed into it, apparently content to scare Dean's nightmares away like Dean had done for him. Having never been around Dean for fifteen years, Sam wanted to make it up by giving Dean what comfort he could now.

"I'm here, big brother," Sam whispered, pulling Dean into his embrace.

Dean was about to "wake" and protest, but he could feel Sam's need to give comfort. And to tell the truth, Dean needed the comfort. Dean settled into Sam's arms as Sam fell asleep beside him. Dean found himself falling slowly towards sleep.

Dean knew that his family only wanted what was best for him, and in order to give him that, they needed to know what had happened so they could start making it better. But Dean couldn't tell them. He just couldn't. If they found out…

…they'd kill him.

**Sorry, I'm a sucker for a good cliffhanger. My stories tend to pick on Dean a lot...I need to start picking on Sam more...Oh, well, there's always the next story...**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Dean pulled himself into consciousness, blinking at the morning sun coming through the window. Dean felt oddly calm and rested, for the first time in fifteen years. He glanced over to see Sam sprawled on the mattress next to him, his long limbs thrown everywhere. Sam had one hand clutched protectively around Dean's arm.

Dean smiled as he watched Sam sleep. Sam had managed to keep the nightmares at bay, something Dean had not been able to do in fifteen years. It was such a relief to wake up fully rested and at peace with a family to live with.

Dean grabbed hold of Sam's hand and gently pried the fingers off of his arm. As Dean quietly climbed off of the bed, Sam's hand gripped at the empty bed as he frowned, searching for his missing brother. Dean grabbed the small jacket from where it had fallen on the floor in the middle of the night. He put it on the bed next to Sam's hand, and Sam gripped it, pulling it towards him. He relaxed as he drew comfort from the familiar article.

Dean watched with amazement as Sam calmed instantly when he held his big brother's jacket. The jacket had held such a special place in Sam's heart for most of his life. It had been a solace, a comfort to have this jacket close, soothing him when his brother couldn't. Dean suspected that this jacket meant more to Sam than he knew.

Satisfied that Sam was sleeping soundly once again, Dean snuck out of the room and down to the dining room and kitchen. John stood at the kitchen counter, making breakfast. Dean walked up next to the dining room table.

"Morning," said Dean.

John jolted and grabbed a knife off of the counter next to him and quickly spun around, holding it out towards Dean with a hunter's hard mask on his face. Dean stumbled backwards, eyes wide and hands coming up in front of him. He ran into a chair at the table and tripped over it, clipping the table and taking the chair with him to the floor. The chair made a clatter as it hit the floor.

John quickly dropped the knife on the floor, his face losing the hunter's mask and gaining sorrow and guilt. John rushed towards Dean, kneeling next to him and putting his hands on Dean's shoulders.

"I'm sorry," John sputtered. "I'm sorry. I just got so used to just me and Sam. You startled me. I didn't mean to. Are you okay?"

Dean shakily nodded, his muscles relaxing as the threat disappeared.

"Here, come on," said John, holding his hand out to Dean.

Sam bounded down the stairs, obviously woken by the racket. He looked at the two of them. "What happened?"

"Nothing," said John. "We're all right."

John pulled Dean to his feet and righted the chair.

Sam stepped forward a little. "Dean, your arm."

John gently but quickly grasped Dean's right arm, turning it to see a dark red stain quickly growing on the shirt at the back of Dean's upper arm. The stain was quickly spreading down the arm.

"Probably happened as you hit the table," said John. "The edges are kind of rough. Let's get it patched up."

Dean shrugged his arm out of John's hold. "I'll be fine."

"Dean, at the rate that's bleeding, you're gonna need stitches," said Sam.

"I can take care of it," said Dean.

"Dean, you need some help with this," said John, gently taking Dean's arm and beginning to roll up the sleeve to take a look. "Let one of us help you."

"I got it," Dean snapped, yanking his hand out of John's grasp and frantically rolling the sleeve back down. "I'm pretty good at stitching myself up. You guys eat; I'll be right back."

Sam and John winced at that last sentence as Dean headed upstairs. Dean hadn't had a father or a brother to patch him up when he got hurt; no one to take the pain away or make him feel better. He'd had to learn to take care of himself.

"Come on," said John, heading back to the counter. "We'll check on him in a little while."

Sam nodded and went to helping John make breakfast.

*******************************************************SN******************************************************************************

Dean tied the stitch thread, cutting the extra off. He put the little scissors back down on the counter and threw the leftover thread into the trash can. He turned the bathroom faucet on, cupping water into his hand and dumping it on his arm to rinse the blood off. He then grabbed the peroxide and poured some over the gash in his arm. He hissed in pain and put the bottle back down on the counter.

Dean looked down at the bloody shirt on the counter, knowing he needed a clean one. But he didn't want to impose on Sam's wardrobe, and he also did not want to walk out of the bathroom without a shirt on. Sam or John might see him and…everything that had happened to him. No, he would just have to wait until he got a new one.

Dean pulled the shirt back on, wincing as his stitches pulled on his nerves. He opened the bathroom door, turning off the light. Heading towards the stairs, he turned the corner at the staircase and bumped into someone. Dean jumped back, inhaling quickly as his heart raced. Dean looked up to see Sam standing at the top of the stairs, his hands out towards Dean.

"Hey, hey, it's just me," said Sam softly.

Dean relaxed, starting to breathe again.

"You okay?" asked Sam.

Dean nodded. "Yeah, all stitched up."

"Great," said Sam. "Did you want to go buy some clothes today?"

Dean brought the bloodied sleeve forward, chuckling. "Please."

Sam smiled. "Great. We'll leave after breakfast." He led Dean down the stairs.

"Sorry I ruined your shirt," said Dean.

"You didn't ruin it," Sam told him at the bottom of the stairs.

Dean glanced at the dark sleeve in disbelief. "I didn't?"

"Dean, do you have any idea how many of my clothes have blood on them from hunts?" laughed Sam. "It'll fit right in."

Dean laughed as they walked into the kitchen dining room. John was setting the last plate of bacon and eggs on the table.

"Everything go okay?" John asked Dean.

"Yep," Dean told him. "Patched and sterilized."

"That's good," said John as they all sat at the table. "Where'd you learn to stitch yourself up?"

"Well…" said Dean, shrugging and not looking at him. "Sometimes, you just gotta learn firsthand until it works."

Sam frowned. "How much practice did you have?"

Dean glanced up at him and then looked away, clearing his throat. "So, Sam says we're heading out today?"

John nodded, taking the change of subject. "Anything you need other than clothes?"

"Uh, no," said Dean timidly, poking at his eggs with his fork. "I'll be fine with the clothes."

"Dean, you're my son," said John with a smile. "I have enough money. You can get your own stuff."

"Uh…I'll see when we get there," said Dean.

John nodded. "Okay."

They began to eat in awkward silence, none of them really knowing how to strike up a conversation or what to talk about. Sam and John kept glancing surreptitiously at Dean as they all ate. Sam glanced down at his plate and then swept his gaze over Dean's left arm, where his sleeve had fallen up his arm from lifting his fork to his mouth. Sam's fork froze halfway to his mouth as he stared at the skin peeking out from under Dean's sleeve. A white, slightly raised line started just below his wrist and disappeared under his shirt.

"Dean, what happened to your arm?" asked Sam.

Dean's fork dropped back to the plate with a clatter as he quickly pulled the sleeve down to his hand. "Nothing."

"That looked like a pretty nasty scar," said Sam. "How'd you get it?"

"Bike accident," Dean quickly replied.

"Really?" said John. "What happened?"

"Oh, you know how boys can be," Dean told them, plastering on a smirk. "Tried to jump a car, but didn't even make it to the roof. Landed pretty hard."

"Ow," said Sam, wincing in sympathy. "So…wherever you were…you owned a bike."

Dean nodded his head so quickly that he looked like one of those teeth toys that chatter when you wind them up. "Yeah. Yep. Local kid was giving it away, so I took it."

John chuckled. "Quite the little daredevil, huh?"

Dean laughed. "Yeah. That glass hurt like a bitch."

Sam frowned, finding the flaw in his story. "I thought you landed on the ground."

Dean stared at the table for a moment. "Well, I smashed the window when I hit the car, and some glass fell on the ground."

"Oh, okay," said Sam, still watching Dean suspiciously.

"Well," said Dean, shoveling the last bite into his mouth. "I'm done. I'll be upstairs." He carried his plate to the counter and set it down next to the sink, heading up the stairs.

Sam glanced at John, both thinking the same thing. Sam had known it wasn't a bike accident from the second Dean had told them. If it was simply a bike accident, Dean wouldn't want to hide it. And when Dean fumbled his story, it only confirmed his suspicions. Something had happened to Dean, something he didn't want either of them to know. Sam did have a theory, based on Dean's behavior, but he needed more proof.

Sam and John finished their meal and gathered their jackets, and an extra one for Dean. Sam stopped at the foot of the stairs as John headed out to the Impala.

"Dean, we're ready!" Sam called, waiting until Dean came down the stairs. Sam held out the brown cargo jacket. "It's a little cold out."

Dean accepted the jacket. "Thanks." He followed Sam out the door, and Sam turned to lock the door.

Sam and Dean walked over to the Impala, and Dean glanced at Sam's tall form.

"You can have the front seat, Gigantor," said Dean. "Stretch your freakishly long legs."

Sam smiled. "You're just jealous 'cause you're short."

Dean took on an affronted expression. "Am not."

"Dude, have you seen you?" said Sam.

John popped up from the driver's side. "Can we get going already?"

As he climbed back behind the wheel, Sam and Dean smiled and laughed a little.

"Bitch," said Dean.

With Sam's widening smile, both brothers were thinking the same thing: _He remembers…_

"Jerk," Sam answered.

They both climbed into the Impala, Sam in the passenger seat and Dean stretched out in the back. Dean had his arms behind his head and his eyes closed. John started the car and pulled onto the road. Sam glanced at Dean and then reached for the radio knob. He found a rock station playing some Metallica song.

"Aw, man," came Dean's voice from the back seat. "Now, this is the good stuff."

John and Sam both laughed, glancing at each other. When they reached the Walmart in town, they went inside and headed first to the clothing section.

"I got some supplies I need; you boys okay by yourselves?" asked John.

"No, Dad," said Dean. "Two grown men in their twenties can't possibly buy their own clothes without their father to help them."

John chuckled a little. "Behave yourselves."

"Yes, sir," said Sam.

Sam and Dean spent a few minutes grabbing jeans, socks, shirts, boxers, jackets, pj pants, and a belt or two. Sam snuck the belts into the cart and kept Dean away from the belt rack. He did not know how Dean would react to that. Would he freak because there were so many, or would he be fine because no one was holding them? Sam thought it best not to find out. His brother would not forgive him if he had a meltdown in a public place. He would tell him about the belts later…maybe on the way home.

"Alright…shoes next," said Dean, heading towards the right aisle.

It continued this way for a while. Dean collected the clothes, a pair of boots, a pair of sneakers, shower items, a toothbrush, toothpaste, mouthwash, floss, deodorant, razors, shaving cream, a comb, hair gel—for when Dean wanted to cut it shorter, and vitamins—Sam made him buy them to get some nourishment back into his starved, skinny body.

They met up with their father at the register, John carrying some containers of salt. John glanced at their full cart.

"Get everything?" asked John.

"I think so," said Dean. "Thanks for this."

"Don't mention it," said John.

After their things had been rung up, John laid a credit card on the counter that was labeled "Alan Tedmann."

Dean smirked as John smiled at him.

"Like I said: we have enough money," said John. As he signed the pad and the cashier gave him his receipt, John leaned towards Dean with a whisper. "Although we may have to ditch that card now."

Sam, John and Dean loaded the bags in the cart and headed to the parking lot, loading up the trunk. When they got home, they took several trips to bring the bags in. As Dean took the last bag out, he stared into the trunk for a moment. Dean set the bag on the ground and lifted the trunk's false bottom, propping it up with a shotgun lying in there.

The weapons cache had gone to seed since Dean last saw it. John's organized trunk had become a randomized collection of guns and knives. Dean looked over the shotguns, knives, machetes, bullet boxes, salt-round boxes, ID box, bags of salt, and other odds 'n' ends. Dean spotted a box about the size of a shoebox.

Dean grabbed the box and opened it. Inside was a picture of eleven-year-old Dean, along with other items: a picture of the diner, emails from John's friends with information regarding Dean, a map of the town where Dean was taken, surveillance footage of the cars in the lot of the diner when Dean was taken, and a police report of an abandoned fingerprint-less black van—the same one in the parking lot pictures that Dean had recognized at once.

"I guess we don't need that anymore," said John from Dean's shoulder.

Dean looked at him, and John glanced down at the police report and picture of the black van.

"Is that, uh…is that the car?" asked John.

Dean looked down at the van and nodded.

John inhaled deeply. "We thought so. I tried to follow the lead, but the van had been stolen. It was a dead end."

Dean nodded, putting the papers back in the box and closing it. He handed it to John, who walked over and dumped it into the trash. Dean closed the weapons cache and the trunk, picking the bag up. He and John walked inside and up the stairs. Sam had unpacked half the bags, putting them in Dean's closet and dresser.

"It's okay, Sammy," said Dean. "I got it from here. Don't you guys have hunts? You said you had several."

"I already called Caleb," said John. "He's gonna take care of them."

Dean nodded. "Okay. Well, I'm gonna unpack and everything."

"Alright, we'll be downstairs," said Sam. "Oh, and I bought you a couple belts. Just, you know…wanted to warn you."

Dean nodded. "Thanks, Sammy."

Sam and John headed down to the living room while Dean put his new things in his room.

"Dad, we should get jobs," said Sam suddenly from the couch.

John frowned from his seat in the recliner. "What?"

"We should get jobs," Sam repeated.

"Why?" asked John. "We have the credit cards."

"Dad, we need to stay here until Dean gets better," said Sam. "And we can't keep using cards in one place. We should get jobs until Dean is well."

John ran a hand over his face. "Do you think that will ever happen?"

Sam shrugged. "It'll take time and a lot of work on everyone's part, but…we'll just have to see."

John nodded. "I'll start looking."

"Okay," said Sam, standing. "I'll tell Dean."

Sam headed up the stairs and approached Dean's room to find the door only partially open. Sam raised his hand to knock when Dean appeared in the crack between the door and doorjamb, standing facing the bed with his shirt off. Sam's hand froze as he gazed over Dean's torso.

Angry white lines spread over Dean's skin, crisscrossing and spanning his whole back. His upper arms held the same faded lines. Some of these lines were raised, but some were simply paler than the surrounding skin. There were suspicious red or pink spots on Dean's shoulder blades and lower back that looked like old cigarette burns. Among the lined scars were mangled areas of skin left over from being beaten or stabbed by something.

Sam's jaw dropped as tears obscured his vision. Here was an answer to Sam's suspicions: Dean had been beaten. Sam saw more lined scars peeking out from the waistband of Dean's jeans.

_And they beat him naked, too…_

Sam raised a hand and pushed open the door. Dean grabbed a shirt from the bed as Sam walked into the room.

"Dean…" began Sam.

Dean jumped, dropping the shirt and toppling onto the bed as he tried to back away. He looked up at Sam and relaxed.

"Geez, Sam, you trying to give me a heart attack?" said Dean.

Sam was staring at Dean's chest, where even more burns and scars resided. Dean glanced down at his chest and realized he was shirtless. He grabbed up his shirt and quickly put it on.

"Dean, what happened to you?" asked Sam.

"Nothing," said Dean, avoiding Sam's eyes.

Sam's eyebrows rose. "That's a whole lot of nothing."

"It's fine, Sam," said Dean, heading to his closet to finish hanging his shirts.

"No, it's not fine, Dean," said Sam. "You…you're…Were you beaten?"

Dean froze with his hands on a hanger. He turned towards Sam. "No, Sam, I wasn't." He quickly went back to hanging shirts.

"Dean, please, tell me," said Sam.

"For crying out loud, I wasn't beaten, Sam!" said Dean.

"Then where did all those scars come from?" asked Sam. "You can't tell me that all came from some accident."

"It did," said Dean. "A bad car accident."

Sam took a deep, calming breath. "That's bullshit, and you know it."

Dean put his hands on the doorjamb of the closet, breathing deeply. "Sam, please…"

Sam stopped, staring at him. Dean's voice sounded close to tears. Sam realized if he didn't back off now, he would lose his brother forever.

"Dean…" began Sam, walking over to him and placing a hand on Dean's shoulder. Dean flinched, like Sam expected, but he didn't do anything else. "I'm just worried about you. You don't have to tell me right now, but…I'm here for when you **are **ready to talk."

Dean nodded, lifting his hand to his forehead and breathing heavily.

"I'm sorry," said Sam.

"Don't be," said Dean. "You're right."

Sam frowned as Dean turned towards him, his eyes red but no tears falling.

"You should know," said Dean. "But I can't tell you. Not now, not…" He began looking like he might cry, so Sam stopped him.

"It's okay," said Sam. "You don't have to. I just want you to know that I'm here."

Dean nodded, looking at the clothes still on the bed. "I'm gonna…finish here."

Sam nodded. "I'll be downstairs, alright?"

Dean nodded, and Sam walked out of the room. He headed down to the living room, sitting down on the couch and staring at the floor.

"Sam?" asked John after a moment.

"Dad…" began Sam, looking up at his father. "I think Dean was abused."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

"Abused?" said John, eyes wide.

"Yeah, like…beaten, you know?" said Sam.

"Sam, why would you think that?" asked John.

"I just saw him with his shirt off," Sam told him. "It was bad, Dad. The scars…" He winced. "Wherever he was, he was abused."

"Sam, come on, Dean wasn't—"

"I know you don't want ot believe it, but it's true. I mean, you had to have been thinking the same thing."

John **had** been thinking that, but he didn't want to believe it.

"No," said John. "No…he wasn't."

"Dad, why are you fighting this so much?"

"Because I can't protect him!" John suddenly yelled, surging up onto his feet. "If it is true, it's something I couldn't protect him from then, and I can't protect him from it now." John's eyes had filled with tears, which threatened to spill down his face. "I can't help him, Sammy."

"Yes, you can, Dad," Sam told him as he walked over to John. "Dean doesn't need your protection right now. He just needs you. You just need to be there for him."

John looked into Sam's eyes. "How?"

Sam shrugged with a weary smile on his face. "If you figure that out, could you let me know?"

John and Sam both laughed a little. They heard a creak of floorboards and looked to see Dean standing at the living room entryway.

"I'm, uh…I'm all set upstairs," Dean told them.

"Great," said John. "Listen, uh…here, come sit down."

Dean walked over to the couch and sat down. Sam sat next to him as John sat in the recliner.

"We, uh…are going to stay here for a few months, so Sam and I are getting a job here in town," John explained.

"Oh, we're staying for a while?" asked Dean.

"Yes," John told him. "So we can be together and get to know each other again."

For some reason, Dean's face fell, and he looked down at the floor. "I'm sorry."

John frowned. "For what, Dean?"

"For ruining our family," said Dean. "It's my fault I got taken. If it wasn't for me, we wouldn't **have** to get to know each other again."

"Dean, how could you think this was your fault?" asked Sam.

"Because I should have fought him off!" yelled Dean, looking at them. "Dad taught us to fight, and I couldn't even fight off one guy. It's my fault I was taken; it's my fault I've been away for fifteen years; it's my fault we're practically strangers!"

John stood and sat down next to Dean. "This is not your fault, Dean."

"Yes, it is," said Dean, the tears beginning to fall. "If I had fought harder, none of this would've happened! We would've been a family, and I wouldn't have wrecked the last fifteen years—"

"Dean, I don't care about the last fifteen years," John told him, putting an arm around Dean's shoulders. "All that matters is that you are here with us now…finally. I don't care about the past. I just want to be a family…now."

Dean finally let the tears come as he suddenly collapsed into John's arms. John wrapped his arms around Dean, finally getting to embrace his son. Dean leaned into John's embrace, finally getting the comfort he'd gone fifteen years without. Sam scooted over and wrapped his arms around the both of them. Dean's sobs shook them as the three men held onto each other. John raised a hand up and smoothed Dean's hair down, holding him close. He had tears beginning to fall down his face.

"Dean, I'm so sorry," John breathed. "I'm so sorry."

Dean took a couple breaths for a moment before easing away from his father. Sam eased back and watched as Dean looked up at his father, tears shining on his face.

"What do you mean?" asked Dean.

John reached up and wiped the tears from Dean's face. "I'm so sorry you had to go through…whatever you went through."

Dean frowned at John's guilty tone. "It wasn't your fault."

"Not directly, maybe," said John. "But if I hadn't gone out hunting and left you boys alone, I would have been there."

"It's not your fault, Dad," said Dean. "You did what you had to do. If you hadn't gone, someone would've gotten hurt."

"But instead, **you** got hurt," said John. "I saved a stranger and lost my boy."

"You couldn't have helped that," Dean told him.

"If I had been there—" began John.

"And, what, ignored the hunt?" said Dean. "Let someone—people—die just because you can't be away from your kids? You made the right decision. So did I."

John looked up at him, glancing at Sam real quick—who had the same confused expression on his face. "What decision?"

Dean frowned. "What?"

"What decision did you make?" asked Sam.

Dean shrugged. "Just, you know…nothing. I was just…rambling." He looked down at his hands, wringing them together.

John and Sam exchanged a glance real quick. They both knew Dean hadn't been just rambling, that he had said that for a reason. But, Dean was not ready to share, and they weren't pushing him. They would let Dean tell them everything when he was ready.

************************************************************************************SPN*****************************************************************************************************************************

The next week or so continued about the same way. Dean was now a little closer to his father and brother, and John and Sam were there for Dean with whatever he needed. Dean still made sure they never saw his scars. John and Sam suspected that he did it so he wouldn't remind them of what the last fifteen years have been like for Dean. Dean did hide the scars for that reason, but also foolishly hoped that they would forget about it if they didn't see them. You know, out of sight, out of mind.

John got a job at a local garage as a mechanic. It was full-time and it paid for a forty-hour week. Sam got a job at the library as a desk clerk on the weekends part-time. They both agreed that one person had to be home with Dean at all times. They did not want to force isolation onto him yet. Sam would stay with him during the weekdays, and John would be with him on Saturdays and Sundays.

Dean was recovering as well as they could expect. They had discovered Dean's refined palate—or lack thereof. Dean learned that his favorite food was burgers—bacon cheeseburgers, if he could get them. Dean had really begun to get into classic rock like when he was a kid. He even helped John that first weekend with working on the Impala.

Sam had come home on Saturday to find Dean and John gone. It wasn't that much of a concern; John probably went somewhere with Dean. Maybe they went out to eat. As Sam was putting his things in the living room, he heard the Impala's engine approaching the house. He walked outside to see the Impala pulling up in the driveway, Dean behind the wheel. Sam smiled as he leaned against a pillar on the porch.

Dean stopped the engine and climbed out of the car with a smile on his face. "Aw, man, that was awesome!"

John climbed out of the passenger side, also smiling. "See, you're a natural."

"Oh, and she takes those curves so smoothly!" said Dean, closing his door. He ran his hand along the driver's side quarter panel above the wheel, heading towards the fender. "The way she tore down that road! Damn!"

John laughed as he walked around to the fender. Dean stood next to him, his hand still on the engine.

"I never thought I'd get to drive her," said Dean, still smiling.

John nodded. "Well, I figured you'd earned it. It was long overdue."

"You guys have fun?" asked Sam.

John and Dean looked up at him.

"Oh, yeah," said Dean. "Best ride of my life."

Sam smiled. "I'll bet."

Over the next few days, Dean had volunteered to drive whenever they went somewhere. John had, of course, relented, knowing that something Dean enjoyed and was familiar would help him through everything. Dean still would not tell them about what happened, and would get distant and a far-off stare when anything related to it was mentioned. John and Sam were getting more anxious by the day, but they both agreed that forcing Dean to tell them was not the way to go. They would wait…impatiently.

It was now Thursday of the second week. Dean had been with them for about ten days now. John came home from work at five like every weekday. He had dropped by the store for some groceries, along with a six-pack of Budweiser for them to share after dinner. As far as he could tell, Dean and Sam were in the spacious backyard, sparring. It was a habit the two of them had picked up since Monday. They would spar, keeping their fighting skills conditioned. John finished putting the food and beer away and walked out to the back porch, leaning on the railing and watching his sons.

Sam swung a right punch towards Dean, but he deflected it, moving his leg behind Sam's leg and pulling. Sam was left off balance and began falling towards the ground. He twisted his upper body around to catch himself with his hands, and he continued with his momentum, spinning his lower body around until he got his feet under him. Sam ducked a kick from Dean, and used the same trick on him. As Dean's leg was still swinging over Sam's head, Sam grabbed Dean's other leg and pulled it off the ground. Dean hit the ground back-first, and Sam climbed to his feet. Dean kicked his legs up, his upper body leaving the ground, and Dean swung his legs back under him and stood up.

John's eyes widened at that. _So, apparently he kept in good shape…Either that, or he just learns really fast._

Dean went after Sam with a punch that Sam dodged, but Dean quickly wrapped his other arm around Sam's neck and squeezed just enough to end the fight. The boys parted and laughed.

"Sammy, you really had me there for a minute," said Dean.

Sam laughed. "Well, I was barely holding my own. When did you learn that cool kick thing?"

Dean smiled sneakily. "Wouldn't you like to know."

They began heading towards the house and spotted John.

"Hey, Dad," said Dean.

"Hey, Dean," said John. "Nice moves out there."

"Thanks," said Dean as they climbed up the step to the porch.

"What's for dinner tonight?" asked John as the three of them headed inside.

"Well, we were thinking order in," said Sam.

"In other words, 'we just didn't feel like cooking today,'" said John.

Sam laughed. "Basically."

"Alright, what we having?" asked John.

"Well, there's Chinese, and pizza, and…Chinese," said Dean.

John laughed. "How about pizza?"

"Sounds good to me," said Sam.

"Alright, I'll order," said John. "You two hit the showers."

"I call first dibs," said Dean, rushing towards the stairs.

"No way!" said Sam, heading after him. "You had first yesterday."

"I'm older!" Dean called behind him as he reached the top.

"Fair is fair, Dean!" Sam called after him as he rushed to his room for his things.

John laughed, shaking his head as he grabbed the phone. _Boys…_

After showers—Dean had beaten Sam to the shower and gloated about it for a good ten minutes afterwards—and dinner, Dean had gone upstairs to grab a jacket because it was getting a little cold in the house. John headed to the fridge and grabbed three bottles of beer. He gave one to Sam and set one on the table for when Dean came down. He and Sam opened theirs and began drinking.

"So…sparring going okay?" asked John.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, so far. I mean, there are a couple times when I pin him or when he pins me or something…he kind of hesitates when we're…you know." John nodded in understanding. "He's still kind of getting used to contact and everything."

"Well, he's getting better," said John. "Remember when he wouldn't let anyone touch him?"

Sam nodded. "Well, it's all we can ask for. We just wait for when he's ready."

"Yeah," said John.

There was a clatter behind them, and they turned in their seats to see Dean frozen in the dining room doorway, the jacket and the TV remote on the floor at his feet. Dean was staring at the table in shock and what looked like fear.

"Dean?" asked Sam.

Dean bolted from the doorway, tearing up the stairs. Sam and John looked at each other and immediately rushed after him. They headed upstairs, looking in the rooms. John checked Dean's room as Sam checked his. Dean wasn't in them, and they both noticed the closed bathroom door. Sam reached forward and opened the door, letting it swing open. They found Dean sitting against the shower tub and the wall, knees pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs. Dean's head was buried in his arms, and his knuckles were white on his arms.

Sam glanced at John and then slowly approached Dean. John followed just behind Sam—there wasn't really room enough for the both of them to go side by side. Sam knelt down about a foot from Dean, reaching a hand out and touching Dean's arm.

Dean jolted from Sam's touch, squeezing into the corner of the tub and wall. He gasped as he brought his head up, his wild, scared eyes staring at Sam. He looked between Sam and John, seeming to come to himself, but he was still not moving. He squeezed his legs to his chest, breathing deeply as he looked away from them.

"Dean?" said Sam. "What's wrong?"

Dean would not answer. He just stared at the sink cabinets.

"Dean…" began John. "Did we do something wrong?"

Dean quickly shook his head, but still stared at the cabinets.

"Dean, what happened?" asked Sam. "Can you tell us?"

Dean still stared at the cabinets. Sam glanced up at John and then back at Dean.

"How about you get some rest, okay?" said Sam carefully. "I'll help you into bed."

Sam slowly reached out, grasping Dean's arms. Dean finally responded to them and let Sam pull him to his feet. John headed out of the bathroom and towards Dean's room. Sam wrapped an arm around Dean's shoulders and slowly walked with him towards his bedroom. Sam sat Dean down on his bed, his arm still around him.

"I'll be downstairs…cleaning up," said John from behind them. He awkwardly walked out of the room.

Sam looked sideways at Dean. "You wanna change or something?"

Dean just stared straight ahead.

"I'll, uh…let you sleep, then," said Sam, unwrapping his arm from Dean and getting to his feet.

"He used to drink," said Dean.

Sam turned and looked down at Dean. Dean was still staring at the wall in front of him. "What?"

"He used to drink," said Dean with a distant gaze. "He didn't really, at first. But once he got into it…he became a monster."

Sam realized what this was, and quickly, but slowly, sat back down next to Dean.

"He, uh…" said Dean, beginning to hesitate when he realized that he was actually talking about this with Sam. Sam grabbed Dean's hand, giving it an encouraging squeeze. "He kept me…as his son. But he…he began beating me. He would come home every day and hit me. At first, it was just because I did something wrong. But soon, it became…" He took a deep breath. "It became fun for him."

Sam winced as he listened to Dean tell his story.

"He would drink…occasionally," said Dean. "I mean, who doesn't these days. It was just the usual beatings…you know, punches…kicks…" he finally glanced over at Sam, "the belt…for two years. Then…" Dean winced as the memories resurfaced. "Then he moved on to…" He hesitated, tears beginning to form in his eyes. He dropped his head, unable to go on.

Sam squeezed his hand again. "You don't have to tell me."

Dean shook his head as a couple tears fell. "If I don't get it out now, I never will." Dean glanced up at Sam. "He, uh…" Dean closed his eyes and turned his face away from Sam. "He raped me."

Sam's eyes widened as the horror washed over him. Tears began filling his eyes as well.

"It wasn't a frequent thing," said Dean quickly, still not looking at Sam. "It only happened about once a month. But then…" He opened his eyes, staring at the floor. "Then came the alcohol. When I was about sixteen, he started drinking more often. And he wouldn't stop at just a few beers. He began getting drunk. And every time he drank…he got rough." He paused for a while. "He would beat me…rape me…and then beat me some more. Then he began drinking almost every single night. It got to point where I would see the beer and know what was coming. I began barricading myself in the bathroom, trying to hide from him." Dean smiled bitterly for a moment. "It would never work. He would always find me."

Sam's jaw dropped as he realized what had happened tonight. "The beer…"

Dean nodded. "Yeah…the beer…"

John had bought the beer as a way to relax at the end of the day. Dean had seen the beer and flashed back to those nights when that creep would…

_Oh, God…_ Sam thought, tears flowing freely down his face now.

"I tried to get out all the time, but he locked the house from the outside when he was gone during the day," said Dean. "I mean, the windows…the doors…everything was sealed. Not that I gave up easily. I tried like hell to get out. One night, I found something he left behind…a hacksaw. Thought it was my lucky break. I began sawing at the bars on the back window."

Dean looked up at Sam, eyes red from the tears. "Big mistake. He came home early that day. I didn't hear him coming until he was behind me." Dean looked back down at the floor and shook his head. "He was not happy. Took me a week of scrubbing to get the blood off the carpet…and it was not easy with this finger."

Dean held up his right hand, and Sam saw that his index finger was slightly crooked. Not noticeably, but when he pointed it out, Sam saw where it had been broken some time ago.

"I kept hoping one night he would get drunk enough and pass out so I could steal the keys and escape," said Dean.

"Why didn't you try at night while he was sleeping?" asked Sam.

"He locked me in my room at night," Dean answered. "I never had a chance."

"Is that how you escaped?" asked Sam. "He passed out?"

Dean hesitated for a moment. "Yeah…He passed out alright." He was staring at the floor with that distant look again. "Escaped three years ago."

Sam looked away, fresh tears falling down his face. "Damn…Dean…how did you get yourself through all that?" He looked back at Dean.

Dean looked up at him. "Because I knew you were out there…both of you…safe…As long as my family was okay, I knew you would find me eventually."

Sam frowned, looking down at his feet. "But we didn't."

"Yes, you did," said Dean. "See…I'm home."

Sam looked up at him. "God, Dean…how do you sleep at night?"

Dean sat there for a moment. "I don't really know."

Sam looked down at the floor and then back up at Dean. "Do you want…Dad to know?"

Dean looked at him, shrugging. "Well…I just…"

Sam nodded, understanding. "You're not ready."

Dean reluctantly nodded. "I know he wants to know, but…I'm not ready. I was surprised I told you…It just kind of came out."

"Alright," said Sam. "I won't tell him yet. We'll wait for you."

"We?" asked Dean.

"When you tell Dad, I'll be there with you," Sam assured him.

Dean smiled through his fading tears. "Thanks, Sammy."

Sam nodded, his tears also fading. "Don't mention it." He wiped his tears as he stood, heading for the door.

"Sam," said Dean.

Sam turned to see Dean facing him from the bed. "Yeah?"

"Can…" began Dean, clearly uncomfortable with asking this, "Can you…" He couldn't bring himself to voice it out loud.

Sam understood and turned off the light in the room. Dean wanted someone to chase away the memories that he'd just dredged up. Sam walked over to the bed and sat on it, kicking his shoes off. Dean wiped his tears away and took his own shoes off. As Sam circled an arm around Dean as they settled on the bed, Dean pulled the covers up over them. Dean settled into Sam's embrace, staring at Sam's shirt.

"I hope Dad doesn't walk in," said Dean.

Sam laughed and pulled Dean closer. "Let him; he won't care."

"That I need to sleep with my little brother at night?" said Dean.

"Hey," said Sam, squeezing Dean's shoulder. "He understands. He won't think anything of it."

Dean and Sam waited for sleep to come as the night wore on.

"Thanks, Sammy," said Dean sleepily from Sam's chest.

Sam's only response was to squeeze Dean's shoulder again, too tired to say anything. Dean still hadn't told him everything; Sam knew that. There was the thing about the decision Dean had made—whatever that was—and a couple other things that Sam was unsure about. But he would take what he could get. This was a big step for Dean, and Sam would keep helping Dean towards his recovery.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

**Okay, I had a slow day at work, so I wrote a whole chapter. Oh, and the internet wasn't too clear on when CDs came out, so I'm going with the assumption that CDs came out around 1995.**

**SPOILER! If you have not seen "The Sixth Sense," don't read this chapter! I give away the ending.**

Sam woke up first, glancing down to see Dean's hand fisted in the front of the shirt. They hadn't moved much during the night. Sam was pleased to see that Dean's face was relaxed, free from night terrors. Sam gently eased out of Dean's grasp, pulling the blankets over him. He headed downstairs to find John eating before work.

"Hey," said John. "Everything go okay last night?"

Sam sat down at the table. "He told me."

"What?" asked John.

"Dean told me what that bastard did to him," said Sam.

"What'd he say?" asked John.

Sam hesitated awkwardly. "He asked me not to tell you…that he wanted to wait to do it himself."

"What?" said John. "Sam, I'm his father. You can't just—"

"Dad, please," said Sam, the memory of the conversation last night resurfacing.

John stopped at the look on Sam's face. There were tears beginning to fill Sam's eyes.

"After what he's been through…" Sam began, a tear slipping from his eye, "I am not betraying his trust."

John stared at Sam. "Was it that bad?"

Sam shook his head. "It was worse. In all the scenarios I pictured…I never expected this one." He looked down at the table, tears falling earnestly. "Dad, what he went through…"

John reached an arm over and wrapped it around Sam. "We're gonna get through this. We're gonna get him through this."

John and Sam jumped as a yell—no, a _scream_—echoed down the stairs.

"Dean!" Sam yelled as he bolted from his seat, John right behind him.

They ran up the stairs and darted into Dean's room. Dean was thrashing on the bed, caught in a nightmare.

"No!" Dean yelled, throwing his head from side to side. "Stop!"

Sam rushed forward, dodging flailing arms, and sat on the edge of the bed. He reached forward and grabbed Dean's upper arms. As soon as Sam's hands made contact with Dean's arms, Dean threw his head back into the pillow, baring his throat, and gave a blood-curdling scream.

"Dean!" Sam called, desperate to break through to him.

Dean tried to fling Sam's hands off of him. "Stop! Please!"

Sam held on, holding Dean as still as he could. Dean struggled, turning his body back and forth.

"Get off me!" Dean yelled. "No!"

"Dean, wake up!" Sam yelled.

As Dean's head hit the pillow again, his eyes snapped open. All he could see was a tall man looming over him on the bed, pinning him to it.

"No!" Dean yelled, renewing his struggles. He pulled against Sam's arm, trying to get off the bed. "Don't touch me!"

John could only watch in horror at how powerful Dean's nightmares were.

Sam still held on. "Dean, it's me! You're home! You're safe!"

Dean froze in Sam's hands, muscles tense as he stared at Sam's face. The veil seemed to lift, and he looked up at John and back at Sam. A single, involuntary tear fell down Dean's face as he let the tension go and let out a long breath.

"I'm sorry," Dean said shakily. "I'm sorry."

Sam pulled Dean into his arms, holding him close. "It's okay. It's over now. It was just a dream. It won't ever happen again."

Dean wrapped his arms around Sam, burying his face in Sam's shoulder.

John slowly walked to the other side of the bed, unsure how to approach the situation. Without knowing exactly **how** Dean had been hurt, he had no idea what to say or do to comfort him. John understood that Dean had told Sam first. Those boys had always been there for each other. John was always away on hunts.

John sat down next to Dean and awkwardly wrapped his arms around them both. "He's right, Dean. Whatever happened, it won't ever happen again. I promise."

They held each other for another minute or so before Dean shrugged out of the group hug.

"I, uh…need to take a shower," Dean muttered before getting out of bed and heading in that direction.

John sighed. "Well, that went well."

"Well, with…everything….I'm surprised he wasn't more violent," Sam told him.

"Looked pretty violent where I was standing," said John.

Sam shook his head, looking at the doorway. "Trust me, you haven't even cleared the tip of the iceberg."

John shook his head, standing. "I gotta get to work."

"Before you go, get rid of the beer," Sam told him.

"Why?"

"I can't really tell you why, but Dean freaked last night because of the beer."

John nodded, heading to the door. "Watch out for your brother, okay?"

Neither one of them missed the irony that it used to be John telling Dean to watch out for Sam. Now…things were all upside down and backwards.

"Yes, sir," Sam replied with a nod.

John left the room and headed downstairs. Sam sat on the bed for a while, staring at the floor long after he'd heard the shower start running. Sam looked back at the basically destroyed bedding, pausing as he spotted something. The sheets looked _damp_.

_Oh, God, no…_ Sam thought.

Sam was hoping like hell that Dean hadn't done what he thought he'd done. He hoped Dean wasn't traumatized enough to start _wetting_ the bed. Reluctantly, Sam leaned down and sniffed the sheet.

Sam let out a breath when he only smelled body odor. It had just been a cold sweat.

_Thank God…_

He looked up at the door, realizing that Dean had forgotten to take clothes with him. Sam got up, grabbing a pair of jeans, a long sleeve shirt, boxers, and a belt. He walked to the closed bathroom door and hesitated. He knew that if he opened the door, Dean would freak. Sam decided to just leave the clothes right in front of the door.

Sam walked downstairs and found a bag on the counter with a note next to it. The note read:

_Sam,_

_I thought these would come in handy today._

_Dad_

Sam looked in the bag to find rented DVDs: _Wild Wild West, Maverick, Die Hard 2, Mission Impossible, The Matrix, The Sixth Sense, Titanic, Shanghai Noon, Shanghai Knights, Final Destination 1 & 2, X-Men, The Ring, The Grudge, The Amityville Horror, Terminator 2, Lethal Weapon 3, Jurassic Park, Tombstone, Speed, Star Trek: Generations & First Contact, Die Hard With a Vengeance, Face/Off, Misery, House on Haunted Hill, _and _Thirteen Ghosts._

Sam smiled as he looked at them. They were all movies that had come out between 1990 and 2005, when Dean had been gone. Sam would definitely use the Westerns; Dean **loved** Westerns. At least, Sam hoped Dean still loved Westerns. They would start watching these today.

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Dean toweled himself dry and discovered that he had forgotten clean clothes. Dean silently cursed himself. What if Sam saw him? True, Sam knew everything now, but he didn't want to shove it in his face. Dean wrapped the towel around his waist and opened the door a crack, peeking out to see if Sam was out there. He saw no one so he opened the door and stepped on something soft. He looked down to see a pile of clean clothes on the floor.

Dean smiled as he picked them up and went back into the bathroom.

_Aw, Sammy…_

Dean pulled the clothes on and headed downstairs. Sam was putting a bowl of popcorn and a bowl of chips on the coffee table in front of the couch, which had been turned to face the television. The TV was on, and the screen was blue.

"What's going on?" asked Dean.

"Dad rented a bunch of movies," said Sam. "And I mean a bunch. They all came out while you were…you know."

Dean smiled. "Sweet." He sat down on the couch, grabbing some popcorn and eating it. He looked down at the cases on the coffee table.

_Man, we must have come a long way,_ Dean thought. _Those tapes are __**thin**__._

Sam grabbed a case from the coffee table and popped it open. Dean frowned as Sam pulled out a plastic disc-looking thing. It was printed on one side and shiny silver on the other. Sam headed towards the TV.

"What the hell is that?" asked Dean.

Sam faced him, frowning. "What?"

Dean pointed at the disc. "What is that thing?"

Sam frowned, holding it up. "The DVD?"

Dean frowned deeper. "What's a DVD?"

Sam's face became sad as his eyes widened. "Dean, do you really not know what a DVD is?"

Dean felt embarrassed at that and looked away from Sam.

"I'm sorry," said Sam quickly. "I was just surprised. What…what did the guy let you do?"

"Well…" began Dean, "the house he kept me at…he didn't really live there."

Sam frowned. "He didn't?"

Dean shook his head. "He just hung out there every once in a while…when he…you know." Sam nodded. "He only slept there every once in a while. That's when he would lock me in my room. He would stop by three times a day with small meals. Nothing good…Most of the time, the food was a mess at the bottom of the bag. But I was hungry, so…"

"What did he have in the house?" asked Sam.

Dean took a deep breath. "Some old video tapes…no cable…cards…old books…" Dean cracked a wicked smile. "Old Playboys…Kept me from going crazy."

Sam nodded. "Well, have you heard of CDs?" Dean shook his head. "Well, about ten years ago, they switched from cassettes to CDs. It's the same thing, only digital." Sam showed Dean the silver side of the disc. "A laser reads this side and plays the music. So about five years ago, they did the same thing with VHS tapes. They turned them digital. That's what a DVD is. Here."

Sam opened the DVD player and put the DVD in, closing it. He sat down next to Dean and picked up the remote. The screen switched from blue to the green preview screen. Sam pressed a button on the remote, and a word appeared at the top of the screen: "Main Menu." The preview screen disappeared.

"What'd you do?" asked Dean.

"I pressed the menu button," said Sam. "You see, DVDs have menus." Sam pointed at the menu as it popped up. "I skipped the previews."

"You can finally skip the previews?" said Dean, staring at the screen in awe. "Awesome! What's this menu?"

Sam highlighted the choices as he explained them. "Well, you can play the movie. You can find a certain scene and start from there. These are bonus features. They put them on DVDs sometimes: outtakes, behind the scenes footage…Whatever they feel like putting on it. And this is the settings. You can put subtitles on the screen or watch it in another language."

Dean stared at the screen, a smile forming on his face. "This is awesome!" He frowned at the menu. "What are we watching?"

"_The Sixth Sense_," said Sam. "It's an M. Night Shyamalan film."

"Who's M. Night Shyamalan?" asked Dean.

Sam smiled. "No one. Some filmmaker. This one is actually pretty good."

"Alright, play it," said Dean, settling into the couch.

Sam pressed play, and they watched as the movie began. As the picture appeared on the screen, Dean stared.

"Man, that picture is clear," said Dean.

Sam laughed as they continued to watch the movie.

*******************************************SPN************************************************************

"Whoa, he was a ghost the whole time?" asked Dean.

"Yep," said Sam, getting up to change the DVD.

"Well, of course, now it makes sense," said Dean.

Sam changed DVDs and sat down. The menu popped up, and Dean stared.

"_Titanic_?" said Dean. "That doesn't sound or look like a fun movie."

"Everyone has seen it," said Sam. "Even if you hate it, you've seen it. At least now you'll get the movie jokes. Let's just watch it before Dad can walk in on us."

"Then why did Dad rent it?" asked Dean.

"I think he's a closet Leo DiCaprio fan," said Sam.

"Who's Leo DiCaprio?" asked Dean.

_Oh, great,_ Sam thought.

"Only one of the most popular Hollywood heartthrobs," Sam told him.

Dean frowned. "Really?"

"Well, if it helps, there **is** a scene where Kate Winslet is naked," said Sam.

"Really?" said Dean. Sam nodded. "Maybe this movie won't be so bad after all."

Sam glanced at the clock. "Oh, we should order something."

"Yeah, what?" said Dean, already—surprisingly—getting into the movie.

"Well, there's this place called Jimmy Johns," said Sam. "They deliver sandwiches."

"Really?" said Dean. "Sounds good. I'll have a foot-long Italian with jalapeno."

Sam smiled, reaching for the phone. "Okay."

**********************************************************SPN**********************************************************

John walked into the house, finding Sam and Dean in the middle of _House on Haunted Hill_. Geoffrey Rush had just been shot.

"You boys had a fun day?" asked John.

"Shh!" Dean hissed at John, leaning forward on the couch with eyes glued to the screen.

Sam looked at John, and the both of them smiled. Sam stood up, walking over to John.

"We've been watching movies all day," said Sam. "Dean's really liking it. Thanks for the DVDs."

"Sure thing," said Sam.

"Holy shit!" said Dean suddenly from the couch.

Sam and John looked up to see Geoffrey Rush had just "come back to life."

"I'll start dinner," said John. "What do we want?"

"How about Italian?" asked Sam.

"Sure," said John.

Sam walked back over to Dean, where they finished the movie. Dean and Sam helped John cook pasta and garlic bread, and then they sat down at the table. Halfway through the meal, Dean put his fork down and leaned slightly over towards Sam.

"Hey, Sam…" Dean whispered. Sam looked up at him. "I see dead people…"

Sam rolled his eyes as John and Dean both laughed.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

**Sorry this chapter is so short, but I just got sick recently. I feel like crap. I won't work on the next one until I'm better. So, I'll be updating in a week or so.**

Dean spent the next several days watching movies. On Saturday and Sunday, it was with John, while Monday through Wednesday, he watched them with Sam. Dean didn't waste any time each day to quote the movie's lines.

Monday, Dean had thrown _Tombstone_ quotes around like crazy.

"Dean, enough!" Sam had said at dinner.

"Hey, that is, like, the best movie ever!" Dean had said, going back to his dinner. He had stared at his plate for a while. "I'm ya Huckleberry."

Sam had dropped his fork in annoyance, and John and Dean had both burst out laughing.

Monday was also the day Sam had introduced Dean to _Pirates of the Caribbean._

Dean had stared at the screen as Sam played it.

"A Disney movie?" said Dean. "Seriously?"

Sam paused the movie and turned to Dean. "Well, Disney has changed since you remember. It used to be all cartoons and geared towards kids, right?" Dean nodded. "Well, now, they make Disney movies with actual actors that even adults can enjoy. And this one…this one is good."

"What is it?" asked Dean.

"_Pirates of the Caribbean_," Sam answered.

"They made a movie from the ride?" asked Dean. Sam nodded. Dean shrugged. "Alright."

Sam played the movie, and they both enjoyed it.

They had made it through every movie by Wednesday, and John returned them to the store after dinner that night. Dean sat on the couch, just staring at his hands. Sam watched him from his seat next to him, glancing up at him from the book he was reading every once in a while. He could tell Dean was nervous about something, but he hadn't spoken since halfway through dinner. John had noticed it, too, and had told Sam to look after him before he left. Sam had been doing that for the past hour.

The longer John was gone, the more agitated Dean became.

"Hey, Dean, do you want to watch some TV?" asked Sam.

Dean didn't look at him. "I'm fine."

Sam watched him for another moment before going back to his book. The next second, John walked into the house, and Sam looked up to see Dean watching their father warily.

_What's going on?_ Sam wondered. _Does Dean suddenly not trust Dad?_

Dean watched as John sat down in the recliner and flipped through a magazine. Sam watched Dean wring his hands together as he stared at their father. Sam watched for a moment before going back to his book.

Dean took a deep breath, not sure if he was ready for this or not. Before he could stop himself, his mouth decided for him.

"Dad," said Dean suddenly.

Sam looked up at him as John did also.

"Yeah?" said John.

"I, uh…I want to tell you something," was as far as Dean got before his courage failed him.

He couldn't tell his father this; he just couldn't. It would break the man's spirit. Sammy was one thing, but John was something else entirely. John was the man who had raised him. What would he think about this?

Sam sensed what this was about, and he put his book down, grasping one of Dean's hands. Dean looked in surprise down at the hand and then up at Sam. Sam gave him an encouraging smile, accompanied with a hand squeeze. Dean smiled slightly back at him before looking back at John.

"I want to…to tell you about…" he hesitated at that moment.

Sam could tell Dean was uncomfortable—downright scared—to utter the next words. Sam gave him another hand squeeze to let him know that he was still here.

Dean took a deep breath. "…about Carl Tallands."

Sam's eyes widened. Dean had never mentioned the guy's name. It looks like he was ready to share more.

John frowned. "Who is Carl Tallands?"

Dean flinched at the name, and his grip on Sam's hand tightened ever so slightly. "He's the one who took me."

John looked over at Sam quickly, understanding what was going on now.

"He, uh…" Dean began. "Well, I'm sure you've guessed this from the…scars…but…he beat me." John shifted on his chair. "He kept me locked in a house…beat me all the time." Dean took a deep breath again. "When I was thirteen, he, uh…" Dean avoided his father's eyes. "He got worse."

"Worse?" asked John, not really wanting to hear this. "Did he…torture you?"

Dean's chin trembled, and he looked up at his father, tears beginning to fall down his face. "Something like that."

John looked over to see Sam also had tears in his eyes. He remembered how Dean had reacted whenever he was touched, of how jumpy he was at first. He remembered how Sam had described his talk with Dean.

_Sam shook his head. "It was worse. In all the scenarios I pictured…I never expected this one." He looked down at the table, tears falling earnestly. "Dad, what he went through…"_

John's eyes widened as the pieces clicked into place. "He didn't. Dean, tell me he didn't…rape you…"

Dean closed his eyes as tears fell down his face, and he slowly nodded. Sam took his hand away from Dean and wrapped that arm around his shoulders. John ran a hand over his face.

"Dammit," John muttered.

"I'm sure Sam told you about the beer," Dean said, figuring that's why he hadn't seen it since.

"Well, he told me it bothered you, but he didn't tell me why," said John.

Dean turned his head towards Sam, who gave him a smile and a small nod. Dean smiled back at him, comforted that Sam had kept his secret for him.

Dean looked back at his father. "At sixteen, Carl began really drinking. Almost every night, he got drunk and then beat me…raped me. That's why I freaked when I saw the beer."

"How did you get away?" asked John.

"I, uh…kept waiting for him to pass out drunk one night so I could steal the keys," said Dean. "Finally got away three years ago."

"And you've been trying to find us ever since?" asked John. Dean nodded. "Where was he keeping you?"

"Some house," said Dean. "Didn't really live there, though. Just stopped by every once in a while."

"Did he even feed you?" asked John. Dean nodded again. "Where did this happen?"

Dean looked away from him, not sure whether he should answer this question. He was already strung out from the conversation and wasn't sure how much more he could take. John took notice of how Dean's hands were shaking.

"Never mind," said John. "It's alright. Are you okay?"

Dean shakily nodded his head. "I think so."

John looked down at his hands, wondering what to do. What did Mary do when their sons were upset?

"How about some pie?" asked John.

Dean looked up at him. "What?"

"You want some pie?" asked John nervously.

"Uh…sure," said Dean.

John immediately got up from his chair and went into the kitchen. Dean watched him go and looked dejectedly at Sam.

"He…" began Dean, looking at the floor. "He left."

"He just wants to be there for you somehow," said Sam. "His son just told him he'd been abused for years. He's trying to make you feel better any way he can."

Dean nodded, but a part of him couldn't help but feel abandoned by his father. He'd just told his father this horrible story, and he had left the room.

_I knew it,_ Dean thought. _I knew he would be disgusted with me. I knew he wouldn't want to be around me anymore._

Dean could only give thanks that Sam was still sticking with him. John walked back into the living room, a plate with a piece of apple pie in his hand.

"Here," said John, handing the plate to Dean.

Dean took the plate and put it on his legs, staring at it but not touching it. John stood next to the couch awkwardly, not sure what to do.

"Um…" began John, "need anything else?"

_Yeah, my dad,_ Dean's mind told him.

Dean slowly shook his head, tears beginning to fill his eyes. His hands clenched on either side of the plate.

_Quit crying, you wimp!_ Dean told himself.

As Dean took a deep breath to calm himself, John took the plate away and put it on the coffee table. John then knelt in front of Dean and wrapped him in his arms. Dean was stunned for a moment before wrapping his arms around his father. John held him as tears flowed down his face.

"Dean, I'm so sorry," said John. "I'm so sorry I didn't find you in time."

Dean let out everything: his guilt, his depression, his fear, his anxiety…everything. The last fifteen years were something they would never get back…and they both knew it. They sat there for several moments, mourning their lost time. After a while, John pulled away from Dean, wiping away his stray tears.

John smiled at him. "Tell you what, why don't we go do something?"

Dean frowned. "Something?"

"Yeah, we'll go do something as a family," said John. "Uh…movies, or…bowling, or…"

"Bowling?" asked Dean, a smirk growing on his face. "Us…bowling?"

"Well, would you prefer ice-skating?" said John, shrugging.

Dean burst out laughing. It was like music to John's ears to hear Dean laughing like that.

"I'm not sure what they have to do in this town," said John.

"Well," said Sam, thinking back to his weekends in town. "They have laser tag, miniature golf, **actual** golf, skate park, movie theatre, bowling alley, and then there's the ever popular nail salon."

"Ooh," Dean brightened, his eyes growing happy. "Let's go there!"

Sam and John exchanged confused glances.

"The…nail salon?" asked Sam.

"Yeah!" said Dean, becoming downright giddy.

Sam and John exchanged glances again, becoming worried about Dean's sanity.

"Guys, lighten up," said Dean, his giddy expression fading to an amused one. "I'm joking."

Sam and John looked at each other again, letting their tension go in relief. They all started laughing.

"Well, what do you guys think?" asked John. "Whatever you want."

"Hm," said Dean, seriously thinking this time. "Miniature golf sounds good."

"Golf?" asked Sam. "You?"

"Hey, it's a sport," said Dean.

Sam smiled. "Golf, it is."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

**To MysteryMadchen: I know this isn't exactly what you were looking for, but your idea of something happening to Sam was great, so this is what I came up with (at the end of the chapter). Your comment, and the episode "My Heart Will Go On" got me thinking about how when you change the past, little things in the present get changed.**

**I'm finally not sick anymore, and I celebrated my 22 birthday Friday. The CW gave me an awesome gift for my birthday: SUPERMAN!**

**Here ya go.**

"Ha!" Dean exclaimed. "That's, what, the tenth hole-in-one in a row?"

Sam and John smiled as they shook their heads. They were on the tenth hole at the mini-golf course, and Dean was beating them. Oh, who were they kidding? Dean was _creaming_ them. Not that John and Sam were horrible. I mean, they were hunters; they could hit a ball in a hole. They hit par every time. There was only one hole where each of them went one over par. But Dean…Dean was hitting each one the first time. They guessed they hadn't realized Dean would be this good after all this time.

Dean grabbed the little scorecard from his pocket with the little pencil they give you. He wrote down his score. "Okay, so that's Sam with one, Dad with one, and me with minus fourteen." He looked up at them and gave a cheeky smile.

"Yeah, yeah," mumbled Sam. "Laugh it up."

Dean stuffed the card and pencil back into his pocket, laughing. He bent over and pulled his golf ball out of the hole. With golf balls and putters in hand, the three of them moved on to the next hole.

"How are you still this good?" asked John. "I mean, I can't imagine you had opportunities to train while you were…"

"Well, when I got away three years ago, I started searching for you, right?" said Dean. "I also began training. I wanted to make up for all those years I missed."

"Well, your aim is…amazing," said Sam.

Dean smirked. "It better be. I worked like hell on that for a year."

Sam placed his ball on the green and aimed, hitting it with the putter. It took him two tries to get it in the hole, and the par was three.

"Now that's more like it," said Sam, snatching his ball from the hole.

John made it in three, and Dean, of course, got a hole-in-one.

Dean laughed as he got his ball from the hole. "I'm amazing." He headed to the next hole.

John and Sam glanced at each other, smiling. They were glad Dean was enjoying himself. It was one small step towards Dean being whole again.

The game continued this way until the eighteenth hole. Dean's lucky streak continued, and he won the game. John and Sam walked around the small gift shop while Dean turned in the scorecard to get a free game.

"Nice run, man," said the clerk, handing Dean his coupon.

"Beginner's luck," said Dean, smiling.

His gaze fell on a two college-age guys standing in the aisle twenty feet away. They were eyeing him in a way that made him very uncomfortable. The way they were staring at him…it was the same stare Carl used to give him…_that_ stare.

Dean's smile faded slowly. "Um…thanks. I gotta go."

He turned away from the register and scanned the small store for his brother and father. Before he could find them, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked next to him to find one of the college guys with a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, buddy," said the guy. "Wanna hang out with us?"

Dean looked over to see the other guy on his other side. "Uh, I'm with my family."

"Ah, come on," said the other guy. "We'll make it worth your while."

As the two of them steered Dean into the shelves towards the back door, their grip tightening, Dean was flashed back to all those times Carl had abused him. He knew what these two had in mind. He could not go through it again.

"No…" Dean mumbled.

"Why not?" asked the first guy. "We promise it'll be fun."

"And you look like you'd be an excellent time," said the second guy.

Dean wanted to fight back, but with the familiar situation showing itself, the familiar fear and dread was creeping into his mind, kicking his training right out.

"No…" Dean said again, pulling at their grip.

The first guy grabbed hold of Dean's arm, pulling him towards the door. The second guy walked behind them.

Dean froze, trying to twist away from the guy. "Stop."

"Come on, pretty boy," said the first guy, pulling him towards the door.

Dean began hyperventilating and struggling to get free. "No. Get away from me."

As Dean's voice was beginning to rise, the second guy clamped a hand over his mouth, grabbing Dean's arm with his other hand. Dean began twisting his arms trying to get free.

Sam glanced toward the back of the store, not really sure why his spider sense was tingling. His instinct was telling him something was wrong. He finally spotted his brother being forced towards the door.

"DEAN!" Sam yelled, darting towards him.

Dean pulled against his captors, yelling into the hand covering his mouth. Dean brought his jaws together, capturing a finger between his teeth. The second guy yelled and brought his hand away.

"Get away from me!" Dean yelled, pulling against the first guy. The second guy grabbed Dean also. "Stop! Get off me!"

"DEAN!" Sam yelled again, barreling into the first guy. John grabbed the second guy, pulling him off Dean.

Dean pulled away from the guys, backing up as far as he could until he hit a wall and slid down to the floor. Sam knocked his guy out and rushed over to Dean.

"You okay?" asked Sam.

Dean had his eyes closed, gripping his knees in a while-knuckled grasp.

"Dean?" said Sam. He put his hand gently on Dean's shoulder. "Dean…"

Dean opened his eyes and looked up at Sam.

"You okay?" asked Sam, getting worried about the freaked look in Dean's eyes. He could not afford a setback in his healing process.

Dean nodded shakily, staring at the unconscious guy. "Yeah. Yeah, I…I wanted to fight back, but I…"

"It's okay," said Sam, grabbing Dean's arms and pulling him to his feet. "It's fine now. You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah," said Dean. "Yeah. Thank you."

"No problem," said Sam, still watching Dean warily.

Dean spotted Sam's stare and smile a little. "Don't worry, Sammy. It's gonna take a lot more than two creeps to bring me down."

Sam smiled. "That's good to hear."

John came over, pulling Dean into his arms. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you? Are you okay?"

Dean frowned at Sam over John's shoulder. "Dad, I'm fine. Really." He awkwardly patted John's back.

John pulled out of the hug, hands on Dean's shoulders. "You sure?"

Dean smiled. "Yeah, I'm sure." He glanced down at the two unconscious guys, the clerk standing over them calling the cops. "I just want to get out of here."

"Yeah, of course," said John, leading his sons out of the shop.

"Hey!" the clerk called, catching up to them. "I just wanted to apologize. I had no idea they would do something like that."

"It's okay," said John. "Just make sure they get taken care of."

"Will do," said the clerk.

John led Sam and Dean out to the Impala, driving them away from the mini-golf place. "Alright, we got a couple more movies to watch, so—"

"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute," said Dean from the backseat. "We don't have to go home."

Sam turned halfway in his seat to look at Dean. "We don't?"

"No," said Dean. "Just because two douchebags got the better of me doesn't mean I'm gonna hole myself up in the house."

John and Sam exchanged a wary glance. They didn't want Dean to put up a front for them.

"I'm not gonan let the last fifteen years determine my entire life," said Dean.

"Dean, you can't just bottle this all up and not deal with it," said John.

"I've dealt with it," insisted Dean. "Believe me, I've dealt with it. That's not what this is about. I'm not gonna let everything that reminds me of Carl take me down. The memories, the flashbacks…They're going to come; I can't stop that. What happened, happened. I can't dwell on it or I'll never move on. I'm stronger than that."

John smiled into the rearview mirror. "You're damn right you are. I'm so proud of how you're dealing with this."

Dean smiled back at him.

"And me and Sam…we're gonna get you through this," continued John.

"Thanks," said Dean, placing one hand on John's shoulder and one hand on Sam's. "Let's go for some ice cream or something before turning in for the night."

John smiled. "Alright."

John hadn't wasted any time the next day in calling up every contact he had, searching for information on Carl Tallands. He even called the FBI as an agent to dig up his records. The FBI agent he talked to told him he'd have information in a couple days. The Winchesters spent Thursday and Friday just taking it easy. On Saturday, John was barbecuing on the grill in the backyard with Dean. In between checking on the food, they tossed a football back and forth.

Dean brought his arm back and forward, releasing the football. It soared across the yard, and John caught it.

"Yeah!" Dean called. The two of them laughed.

A cell phone rang in the kitchen, and John set the ball down.

"Hey, keep an eye on the food," John called, rushing into the house. He picked the phone up. "Hello? Yes, this is Agent Wilson."

Dean turned the burgers over and took a drink of water. The days were beginning to look up. His family was there for him, despite what he'd told them. True, he hadn't told them everything, but it would be alright. There were some things they just didn't need to know.

Dean heard the door open and footsteps on the porch. He turned to see his father walking out of the house. There was something different about him than when he'd gone inside.

"Dad, you okay?" asked Dean.

John looked up at him, a mixture of disappointment and hope on his face. "Yeah…yeah, I'mf ine. I just, uh…I just got an…interesting phone call."

Dean frowned. "Who was it?"

John was about to answer when they heard the Impala's engine out front. John frowned as he looked at his watch.

"Sam doesn't get off work until four," said John.

The two of them walked into the house and to the front door, where Sam was just entering.

"Home so soon?" asked Dean.

"Well, there was some power outage at the library, so they let us go home early with pay," said Sam.

"That was nice of them," said Dean.

"Are you sure it wasn't…" began John.

"It's alright," said Sam. "Nothing for us to worry about. Just a blown breaker in the basement. What were you guys up to?"

"Uh, grilling burgers and tossing the ball around," said Dean. "Nothing much."

"Oh," said Sam.

"Sam, can I, uh…Can I talk to you for a minute?" asked John.

Sam nodded. "Sure."

The two of them left the room, heading for the living room.

"I guess I'll keep an eye on the food," Dean shrugged, heading for the backyard.

Dean sat on the lawn chair next to the grill for about ten minutes before John and Sam walked back out.

"Hey, Dean," said Sam. Dean turned in his chair to look at him. Sam now had that same look on his face that John had earlier. "Can you come inside for a minute?"

"Well, who's gonna watch the—" began Dean.

"The food can wait," said Sam, that strange look still on his face.

Dean shrugged, but grabbed the burgers from the grill so nothing burst into flames. He took the plate inside and set it on the kitchen counter. He sat down at the table as John and Sam also took seats at the table.

"The guy on the phone," began John. Dean nodded to show he knew what John was talking about. "He was with the FBI."

Sam watched as Dean frowned in confusion.

"After you told us the guy's name…" continued John, "I called looking for information on him. I wanted to track him down and…give him a piece of my mind. They just got back to me today."

Dean's eyes widened just a little, and he was paying very close attention to his father now.

"They found Carl," said John, looking Dean straight in the eyes. "He's dead."

Dean froze, staring at John in fear. Sam could tell he was scared of the idea of Carl, and he was worried that the FBI might have been mistaken in thinking Carl was dead.

"The cops found him in a house about a month after you said you'd escaped," explained John. Dean was watching him very carefully. "From what they can gather, someone broke in about two weeks before and beat him to death."

Dean looked from John to Sam and back again, searching for answers. "He's…he's dead?"

"Yes," said John, wanting to squash to fears in his son. "He's gone. He can't hurt you anymore."

Dean all but collapsed into his chair in relief, but he still had a wary look on his face. "Do they know who killed him?"

John shook his head. "No, they don't. Probably a burglar trying to find some quick cash."

Dean put his head into his hands, running them over his face. He looked back up at John. "They're sure he's gone?"

"Yes," said John. "Everything's gonna be okay now."

Dean finally seemed to accept it, and he sagged into his chair, full of relief. "Thank God."

Sam and John exchanged a glance, wondering how to change the conversation.

"Well…" said Sam, "lunch is getting cold, so…"

Dean latched onto that subject change. "Yeah. I did all the work, we better not let it get cold."

"Hey, I…got it started," said John.

"Yeah, and then you let me finish," said Dean. "I say I get all the props."

John shook his head as he smiled, and they prepared to eat lunch.

************************************************SPN*********************************************************

Dean walked down the hallway that afternoon, heading to grab something from his room. The bathroom door opened, and Sam walked out in a towel, having just finished his shower. He walked past Dean, who headed for his room, but he froze in his doorway when Sam turned towards his door. Dean spotted a white scar the size of a baseball on Sam's back above his right hip.

"Sam, what the hell happened to you?" asked Dean, turning towards him.

Sam turned to face Dean, frowning. "What?"

Dean pointed at his back. "Your scar. What happened?"

Sam glanced over his shoulder down towards the scar. "Oh…yeah. Uh…" He turned fully towards Dean. "Ninth grade…There was this kid who had been picking on me since I got there…mainly because I stood up for this kid Barry that he was always picking on. I guess he decided I would take his place. Anyway, at the end of the week, I walked out to the parking lot to wait for Dad to pick me up. I saw the kid picking on Barry again, so I intervened. The kid started throwing me around, but I didn't fight back because I didn't want to make a scene. Then the kid called me freak, and I couldn't take it anymore. I hit him. This was before my growth spurt, so I was just this scrawny little kid. I hit him good, but he was still bigger than me. He shoved me into a picnic table on the lawn, and…that's how I got that."

Dean clenched his jaw, shaking his head. "Dammit…If I'd been there—"

"You would have beaten the shit out of him, sent him crying home to his parents, and probably gotten suspended," said Sam with a smile. "Or most likely, you wouldn't have been able to do anything. It was just after school, and you probably would have been hanging out with some girl."

"But I could have looked after you," said Dean. "I could've trained you up before, you know…Made sure you could take care of yourself."

"Dean, it was nothing," said Sam. "Just a scrape. I'm fine. You're here for me now. That's all that matters."

Dean smiled up at him. "Yeah…that's what matters."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

**I would've had this chapter up this morning, but my mom guilted me into helping this old lady pack.**

The next four days were spent relaxing again. The Winchesters had decided to celebrate Thanksgiving, so Sam and Dean spent the days making a list of what they wanted to eat that day. As Thursday drew closer, Dean got more and more nervous. Sam didn't understand why Dean was so agitated. That guy Carl was dead; Dean should be relieved. But Dean was just getting more and more restless. And he was avoiding John and Sam. They couldn't figure it out. John had asked Sam to keep an eye on Dean to find out what was going on with him.

However, they had been noticing certain changes in Dean. Not only in behavior, but also physically. In the past twenty-one days since Dean got there, his frame had begun to fill out. He had trained practically every morning, so his body was also growing more muscular. He had begun to grow less jumpy around people, more sure of himself. He was actually starting to express his own personality.

Tuesday, Sam was doing some online work on his laptop when Dean walked in.

"What the hell is that thing?" asked Dean.

Sam glanced up at him. "What?"

Dean pointed at the laptop. "What is it?"

Sam looked at his laptop, realizing. _The laptop hasn't been out since Dean has been here…_

"Oh, um…" Sam frowned. "You know what a computer is, right?"

"Duh," said Dean, leaning on the table next to Sam. "Is this supposed to be a portable computer? A, uh…what's the word?"

"Laptop?" suggested Sam.

"Yeah, that," said Dean.

"Yeah, it's a laptop," said Sam.

"Wow," said Dean. "Those things really came along. Hardly recognize it."

"Yeah, see…" said Sam, opening a new internet window. He typed in .

"What is YouTube?" asked Dean.

Sam smiled. "What is your favorite movie?"

"Uh…I don't know," said Dean. "Tombstone?"

Sam looked up the Tombstone trailer and played it. When it was finished, Dean stared in fascination.

"So, this is some website for movie trailers?" asked Dean.

"Well, sort of," said Sam. "It's a website of video clips. It just came out this year. Anything you want to see, you can find."

"Anything?" asked Dean.

"What's the most unusual, outrageous thing you can think of?" asked Sam.

Dean thought for a moment. "Cats dancing in pink tutus."

Sam smiled, and they both started laughing. Sam typed in those exact words, hit enter, and clicked on the first video choice. As the ridiculous video began playing, Dean stared at the screen, smiling.

"No freaking way!" said Dean.

Sam stopped the video and looked at him. "Ever heard of Google?"

"Google?" said Dean. He smirked. "Sounds naughty."

Sam spent three hours that day giving Dean a tutorial in computer-ese. Wednesday afternoon, Sam sat down in the living room to finish his laptop work. He opened the computer to find a very big problem on the screen.

"Hey, Dean," Sam called toward the kitchen where he heard Dean moving around doing something. "Were you on my computer?"

Dean poked his head out of the kitchen with a dish towel and wet plate in hand, drying it. "What? No."

"Oh, really?" said Sam, pointing at the screen. "'Cause it's frozen now on, uh…Busty Asian Beauties dot com?"

Dean stared at him for a moment, glanced at the computer and then down at the towel, and darted back into the kitchen.

"Dean—" said Sam, exasperated. "Look, just—don't screw up my laptop anymore, okay? You're welcome to use it, just don't go surfing porn."

"Won't happen again!" Dean called back.

Sam smiled as he set about fixing the laptop.

Wednesday night, John came home with Thanksgiving food. He had the rest of the weekend off, and was gonna make the most of it.

Thursday, the three Winchesters were beginning to get the dinner together. John started the turkey in the driveway in one of those turkey pots as Sam and Dean fixed the rest of it. Dean was working on the ears of corn at the counter while Sam peeled potatoes at the sink. Dean kept fumbling with the cobs, dropping them on the counter. After one fell and rolled off onto the floor, Sam stopped what he was doing and turned towards Dean.

"You okay?" asked Sam.

Dean looked up at him after picking the cob up. "I'm fine. I'm fine."

Sam sighed, taking a step towards his brother. "Dean…I know that the news about Carl is a little upsetting…but I promise you, you don't have to worry about him anymore."

"No, it's not that," said Dean quickly, going back to work. He caught Sam's disbelieving look. "It's not! Really!"

"What's not?" asked John as he walked into the room.

"Dean's freaked about Carl," Sam told him.

"No, look, I'm just—I'm freaked out about the whole Thanksgiving thing," Dean explained. "You know, the whole 'not having had one in fifteen years' thing. I just want it to be perfect."

Dean didn't miss Sam's uncertain look towards John.

"Look, Sam, I promise you this is not about Carl," said Dean. "I mean, he's dead, remember? I made sure of it." He turned back to the corn.

Both John and Sam froze, staring in confusion at Dean.

"What?" said Sam.

Dean froze and looked at them. "Well, I mean, you guys told me he was dead. You know…we made sure of it."

"You didn't say **we**," said Sam. "You said **I** made sure of it."

"No, I know," Dean fumbled for words. "You guys told me, and—and I asked if you were sure. You know, I made sure of it." He nervously turned back to the counter, beginning to fuss with the corn again.

"That's not what you meant," said John. Dean froze at the counter, staring down at his hands. "Dean, what aren't you telling us?"

Dean stared at the counter for a moment before setting the corn back on the counter and walking slowly over towards the opposite side of the room. He was wringing his hands and staring at the floor, his back to his father and brother.

"I can't…" Dean whispered, barely audible.

"Can't what?" asked Sam.

"I can't tell you…" said Dean.

"Why not?" asked John.

Dean hesitated a good minute before pulling his shoulders up slightly, trying to hide in himself. "You'll kill me."

"What?" Sam exclaimed. "Dean, why would you think we would kill you?"

"Because you're hunters," said Dean, speaking rapidly. "I'm not stupid. I know what a hunter is. A hunter kills bad things."

John and Sam exchanged confused glances. Was Dean telling them what they thought he was telling them? Did Dean think they—hunters—would kill him because he was evil?

John stepped a little closer towards Dean. "Dean, why would you think that you're bad?"

Dean did not answer; he just kept staring at the floor and wringing his hands.

"Dean, please…" Sam tried. "Whatever you've done, whatever you have to tell us…I promise you, we won't hurt you."

Dean still said nothing, and Sam shook his head at John, and they began heading away from Dean.

"Three years ago…" began Dean, "Carl came home one day."

John and Sam turned back toward him. Dean was still in the same position. He seemed not to want to face Sam and John. That way he could pretend they weren't there, and he was talking to himself.

"And…he'd had a bad day or something," continued Dean. "Grabbed a beer from the fridge, started chugging it. He was yelling at me, blaming me for something…something that couldn't have possibly been my fault." He paused for a moment. "Started hitting me…You know, like every other day. But this day…"

Dean turned slowly to face John and Sam, looking at them. "This day, I'd had it. I'd finally had it. He was blaming me for something I had no control over." He shook his head. "I was twenty-three years old. I was tired of him blaming me for stuff going wrong in his life." Dean was staring at the floor again. "I'd finally had it. I snapped. I…I hit him."

Dean seemed to smile a little—just a little—as he looked up at them. "You should've seen the look on his face. He was so shocked. It was the first time I'd ever fought back. So we fought. What little training I could remember finally kicked in, and I overpowered him."

Dean stared at the floor, lost in the memory. A frown started to appear on his face. "And I just kept hitting him and hitting him and hitting him…"

The frown deepened on Dean's face.

"And then I stopped…" continued Dean. "And he was…lying there…" the frown deepened even more, and his chin began trembling, "in a pool of his own blood…"

Sam began to realize where this was going, and his jaw dropped slightly. Tears began to fill Dean's eyes.

"Not moving…" continued Dean, "…not breathing…" Dean's frown grew deeper yet as a tear fell down his face. "I killed him…" He looked up at John and Sam, misery etched deep into his face as a couple more tears fell. "I killed him…"

Sam felt the pieces click into place.

"_Is that how you escaped?" asked Sam. "He passed out?"_

_Dean hesitated for a moment. "Yeah…He passed out alright."_

"_From what they can gather, someone broke in about two weeks before and beat him to death," said John._

"_Do they know who killed him?" Dean asked nervously._

That was why Dean had been edgy when they told him Carl was dead. Sam had assumed he'd been afraid that Carl wasn't truly dead, that Sam and John were mistaken. But Dean was afraid they'd find out _how_ Carl died…that he was the one who beat him to death. It also explained why Dean was particularly edgy as of late. With the fresh reminder, Dean's guilty conscience had been eating away at him.

And that was why Dean thought they would kill him. The Winchesters were hunters. Hunters killed evil supernatural monsters that killed people. But, of course, Dean's eleven-year-old mentality at the time he'd been taken boiled down to: hunters kill bad things that kill people.

"I didn't know what to do, so I just took his keys and ran…" Dean went on, tears falling in earnest. "And I just left him there…dead…" His face twisted in tortured despair. "I killed him…"

John surged forward as Dean's legs began to collapse. He wrapped his arms around Dean, holding him close. Dean grasped tightly onto John, crying into his shoulder. John held onto Dean for a long while.

"Dean, you are not evil," John calmly told him.

"But I killed him," Dean muttered, his voice muffled by John's shirt.

John gently pulled Dean away from him, holding him by the shoulders. "You did not do it on purpose. If you hadn't fought back, he probably would have ended up killing you. You did what you had to do. It was not your fault. You are not bad."

Dean's red eyes sparkled slightly with hope. He took a couple quick breaths. "I'm not bad?"

"No," John insisted. "There isn't a single bad bone in your body. It was an accident." John placed a hand on the side of Dean's face. "You are not evil."

Dean closed his eyes, sagging into John's touch in relief. Sam walked over to them and placed an arm on Dean's shoulder. Dean opened his eyes and looked in gratitude at the two of them.

"Dean, thanks to you, he couldn't hurt anyone ever again," said Sam.

Dean nodded, bringing a hand up to wipe his tears away. "Yeah, I kept you safe."

Sam frowned. "What?"

Dean's hand froze, and he slowly looked up at the two of them. "Well, just, you know…in general." He avoided their eyes. "You know…you never know what he might've done."

Sam sighed, knowing there was more to the story that Dean wasn't telling them. "Dean…"

Dean closed his eyes and frustratingly shook his head. He clearly had not meant to let that slip. John and Sam both took their hands off of Dean to give him space to explain, but did not move away from him.

Dean opened his eyes, looking at the floor. "Carl once had a son…but…he died when he was seven from leukemia."

Sam shared a confused look with his father. What did that have to do with the whole situation?

"So?" said Sam.

"Carl kidnaps a boy to replace him…" Dean explained, "to keep as his dead son."

_So, that's why Dean was kidnapped, _thought Sam. _But one thing doesn't make sense…_

"But…over time, he begins to realize that…I'm not his son," said Dean. "And he resents me for it…begins beating me for it. He hates that I'm alive when his son isn't."

Dean gave a small, bitter chuckle, looking up at them. "But he can't get rid of me, because that would be like getting rid of his son…and he just couldn't do that."

"But…Dean, why would he take you?" asked Sam. "You were eleven. If he wanted to replace his son, he would have taken a seven-year-old."

Dean looked back down, avoiding their eyes and thinking of the right words. "We were in the diner that day…We were finishing lunch, and he was sitting at the counter…" Dean looked up into Sam's eyes, his gaze hard yet sorrowful, "…watching you."

Sam stared in horror, the full understanding of what Dean was saying eluding him. "What?"

"He wouldn't take his eyes off of you," said Dean, still staring straight into Sam's eyes. "So, I hurried you up, told you to go back to the motel and that I would be right back."

Sam listened in horror as he remembered that day.

"_Come on, Sammy," Dean told him. "You finished yet?"_

"_Hang on, Dean," Sam said across the table. "I'm almost done."_

_When Sam finished his last bite, Dean tossed down ten dollars and pulled Sam to his feet._

"_Hey, let go!" Sam protested as Dean practically dragged him out the front door._

_Dean turned Sam towards him, a hand firm on his arm. Sam froze at the look on Dean's face. He saw that look every once in a while, and it always meant business. Sam knew that he needed to listen to his brother now._

"_Sammy, head back to the motel room," Dean told him. "Stay there till I get back."_

"_Dean, what's going on?" Sam asked his big brother._

"_Go, Sam," Dean told him, putting the room key in Sam's hand._

"_But—" Sam began._

"_I'll be right back," Dean assured him. "I promise, Sammy."_

_Sam nodded and turned towards the motel._

That was the last time Sam ever saw his brother until a month ago.

"I turned to march back into that diner and give him a piece of my mind," Dean went on, looking back down at the floor. "But he was standing in the doorway. He tried to go after you, but…I fought him…tried to stop him."

Sam's jaw dropped as the puzzle pieces fell into place. He knew what would happen if Dean's younger brother was in danger. He began to realize where this was leading.

"He began to realize I was making a scene, so he decided…**I **would have to do," finished Dean.

"Oh, my God," Sam whispered, horrified. "It's all my fault."

Dean looked at him quickly, his face stern. "No."

"You were taken because of me," said Sam, staring at Dean in terror.

"No, Sammy, it was not your fault," Dean told him with deadly certainty.

"How can you say that?" said Sam, backing away from Dean in disgust—disgust with himself. How could he have let this happen to his brother? "He was going to take me, but he took you in my place."

"It was not your fault," Dean insisted, stepping closer towards Sam. "It was my choice."

Sam froze in shock. Did he really just hear what he thought he did? "What?"

Dean took a calming breath. "Bottom line was…I make a scene and he takes both of us…or I go along with what he says, and he leaves you alone."

"You…chose to go instead of me?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "Damn right I did."

Sam shook his head in confusion. He couldn't understand why Dean would willingly take on all that pain…beatings…rape… "Why would you do that?"

Dean frowned, cocking his head to the side. The look on his face clearly said he didn't understand why Sam wouldn't know the answer. "Because you're my brother. There is **nothing** I wouldn't do for you. And you know what? If I had to go back and do it all over again, I'd make the same decision in a heartbeat. It was my decision to make, not yours. It was not your fault. I went with him so you wouldn't have to."

Sam felt several tears fall down his face as he looked at the brother who'd given up his childhood for him. "You willingly went with him to spare me the pain…"

"No," said Dean. "I never knew he would lock the place down that tight. I thought I'd get away. Once I got there…there was no escape."

John walked up to Dean, placing a hand on his shoulder. Dean looked at him, and John gave him a certain look—a look Dean knew said John was proud of him for protecting his little brother. Dean looked back at Sam, whose eyes were now red with tears. Sam immediately grabbed Dean into a hug, pouring all this gratitude, pride of his brother, sorrow and guilt into that embrace. Dean gripped him tightly also, knowing what Sam must be feeling. John joined their embrace, wrapping his arms around his two boys. After a moment, Dean took a deep breath.

"So, we okay now?" asked Dean.

Sam laughed a little. "Of course. We've always been okay."

The three of them pulled apart.

"I mean, we're not saying murder isn't a bad thing," said John. "We're just saying that what you did was not murder…It was self-defense. The guy deserved it. **He **was the monster I would've hunted down…not you."

They stood awkwardly for a moment or so before they heard a rush of air or something from outside.

"What was that?" asked Dean.

John's eyes widened. "The turkey…" He darted towards the front door to go check on it.

Sam and Dean laughed as they watched him go. Sam looked at his brother…this man who would sell his childhood, his life, his soul to keep him safe.

"Come on," said Sam. "We need to get dinner ready."

Thanksgiving dinner was the best Dean had ever had. The Winchesters laughed, told stories, and ate their fill. All three went to sleep with full stomachs and relieved hearts.

*****************************************************************SPN***************************************************************************

_Dean cringed as another lash ripped his stomach open once more. He was bleeding from several lacerations on his torso. His right eye swelled slightly from a hit to the face. His left arm rested in a weird angle where his wrist was strapped down to one bed post. It looked as though his wrist was broken or dislocated. His other wrist was strapped to the other bed post. His ankles were tied to either side of the bed, leaving him spread-eagled on the bed with no shirt on._

_Another whiplash left Dean hissing in pain._

"_Scream for me, you little bitch," growled his captor._

_Dean took a couple deep breaths before clenching his jaw tight in defiant silence. He would not let this guy have the satisfaction._

_The captor growled and threw down the whip. He picked up a crowbar and swung it down on Dean's leg._

"_Ah!" Dean yelled in pain._

_The crowbar came down on his other leg._

"_Ah!" Dean cried out again._

_The crowbar collided with his ribs, shattering a couple._

"_AH!" Dean screamed. He looked up at the guy through tears._

_The captor glared down at Dean. "You pathetic bastard…you don't deserve to live."_

_The captor raised the crowbar, bringing it down on Dean's head in a fatal blow._

"DEAN!" Sam shouted, jumping up in bed.

He rushed out into the hall, darting through Dean's bedroom door. He froze as he saw Dean lying still on the bed.

"No…" Sam whispered. He rushed over to the bed, dropping to his knees next to it. "Dean!" Sam shook him a couple times.

Dean jolted in Sam's grasp. "Sam? What's going on?"

Sam relaxed onto the bed, grabbing Dean close in his arms. "Oh, God…Oh, God…"

Dean wrapped his own arms around Sam, sensing something was wrong. "I'm here. It's okay. I'm here."

"I thought…" Sam let the thought hang there.

Dean came to the obvious conclusion: they had just had a horrible conversation that day about Dean's past. It had surely brought nightmares.

"It wasn't real, Sammy," said Dean. "It never happened."

Sam pulled away and looked at him. "It felt so real. You were…" He couldn't bring himself to finish.

Dean pulled back the blankets. "Come on." He pulled Sam towards him, and Sam climbed into Dean's bed. "I got you."

Dean pulled the blankets over the two of them and pulled Sam close. Sam curled into Dean's embrace, letting his older brother chase the nightmares away like he'd always done. Sleep fell on Sam's mind as the last dredges of his terrifying nightmare slipped away.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

**Okay, this is one of two chapters up right now. Enjoy!**

The Winchesters spent the Thanksgiving weekend just taking it easy and having a good time. They stayed in all day on Friday; mostly sleeping in, but then just watching TV and sharing stories. Saturday, they headed to the movie theatre. It was a smaller dollar theatre that played movie that had been out of major theatres for a while. They watched _Batman Begins_. Halfway through the movie, they ran out of popcorn.

"I'll go get some," Sam whispered, heading out of his seat towards the small lobby.

Sam waited for the guy behind the counter to fill up the buckets. A little girl walked up to the counter with her mother.

"One popcorn and a bottle of water, please," said the woman.

"Sure thing," said the guy behind the counter. "Just a second."

"You're tall," said the little girl, staring up at Sam.

"Lizzie…" said the mother.

Sam smiled at them. "It's okay. She's cute."

The mother smiled. "Thanks."

"Why is he so tall, Mommy?" asked Lizzie.

Sam laughed and knelt down in front of the girl. "I just grew up that way. My dad is tall, too. Maybe you'll be as tall as me someday."

Lizzie giggled, coughing a little.

"Lizzie, cover your mouth," said the mother.

Sam smiled as he stood up.

"Here's your popcorn, sir," said the guy behind the counter.

"Thanks," said Sam. He looked at the girl and her mother. "Have a nice day."

"You, too," said the mother.

Sam turned and went back to the theatre.

That afternoon, Sam got ready to put his plan in motion. It had started Friday night. Sam had sat down in the living room with John as Dean did the dishes. Sam had offered to do them instead, but Dean insisted.

"I think I know what we can do Sunday," Sam told John. "Something Dean never got to do as a kid, and probably hasn't since."

"What?" asked John.

"There's a theme park two towns over," said Sam.

John hesitated with a quick, nervous glance at Dean. "Sam…it's a nice thought, but…are you sure that's such a great idea?" He gave a pointed head-tilt towards Dean. "Theme park means crowds."

Sam looked down at his hands, knowing what John meant by it. He looked back up at John with a sober expression.

"Dad…" began Sam, "we can't keep him sheltered in like that. If we don't trust him enough to let him heal on his own…" He glanced over at Dean, who was rinsing dishes and singing some song under his breath, "I don't know what will happen to him."

There was silence for a minute.

"Sam, I understand you want to give him a chance…" said John. "But do you really think Dean is ready for a big crowd like that?"

"We'll leave it up to him," said Sam. "We'll tell him the plan, and he can decide if he wants to go let him decide if he's ready."

John shrugged. "I don't know. Dean doesn't seem like the theme park type."

"You kidding?" said Sam with a smile. "He'll love it."

"Who'll love it?" asked Dean from the doorway.

"Oh…" said Sam. "Nothing. It's nothing."

Dean's easygoing, carefree expression instantly grew hurt and betrayed at Sam's dismissive brush-off. Sam could've kicked himself. After all the secrets over the weeks—the _years_—Sam had just basically lied to his face.

"It's just…It's a surprise," said Sam.

Dean frowned, still a little skeptical. "Surprise?"

"Yeah, a secret," Sam told him. "You just kinda walked in on us talking about it."

Dean's eyes brightened as he nodded, understanding. "Oh, okay. Surprise for what?"

"Like I'm gonna tell you," smiled Sam. "That ruins the whole idea."

Dean laughed. "Alright, alright. Don't let me interrupt the awesome plans."

He walked out of the living room, heading upstairs. John and Sam looked at each other and laughed.

"Okay, you're right," said John. "We'll ask him tomorrow."

Later that night, Dean was roused from his sleep by something. He lay awake for all of three seconds before he heard commotion from across the hall.

"No!" came Sam's voice from his room.

Dean threw the blankets off of him.

"Dean!" Sam yelled in his room.

Dean jumped off the bed and ran into Sam's room to see him writhing on the bed, in the grip of a nightmare. Dean rushed over to him, shaking him.

"Sam!" Dean yelled. "Sammy!"

Sam's eyes snapped open as he jolted up in bed, staring wide-eyed at Dean.

"Dean…" whispered Sam. He latched onto Dean's hand, squeezing it tight.

Dean recognized the fear in Sam's eyes; it was the same fear he'd seen last night.

"Same one as last night?" asked Dean.

Sam nodded shakily, breathing heavily. He'd had another nightmare of Dean being tortured and killed. Dean knew the nightmares would haunt Sam for a while; the kid felt so guilty about what had happened to Dean.

Dean climbed into Sam's bed, holding him close. "It's okay. I'm here."

Dean chased away Sam's nightmares that night. And after taking away his nightmares and…everything…giving something back was the least he could do.

"Hey, Dean," said Sam on Saturday afternoon as they sat at the table having a snack—John stood at the counter, cleaning (really, John Winchester _cleaning_; Dean couldn't get over that idea). "I got an idea of how we can ring out the holiday weekend."

"Oh, really?" asked Dean, his feet propped up on the table. "How's that?"

John turned to watch how the conversation would go.

"Yeah, there's a theme park a couple towns over," Sam told Dean, watching him closely for his reaction.

Dean stared at him, not exactly scared, yet not exactly thrilled at the conversation. So Sam pressed on.

"So, I was thinking we all could go there tomorrow," said Sam. "What do you think?"

Dean looked at the table, thinking for a moment. "Well…"

"I mean, it's completely up to you," Sam quickly added. "It's a park; there'll be people there…probably lots of people. It's your choice."

Dean looked up at him and smiled at his stammering. He shrugged. "Sure, sounds like fun."

Sam frowned. "Really?"

"Yeah, a theme park," said Dean. "Should be fun, right?"

Sam and John exchanged slightly befuddled glances. They hadn't expected Dean to react with such enthusiasm.

"Am I missing something?" asked Dean. "Have they changed theme parks from what they used to be?"

"No, no," said John. "We're just glad you're looking forward to it."

"Alright, get some rest," said Sam. "We leave first thing in the morning."

"Dude…" said Dean.

Sam looked at him.

"It's four o'clock," said Dean.

Sam glanced down at his watch. "Oh…right."

Dean laughed, looking at John. "Aw, look at this. Little Sammy can't wait to get to the park."

Sam shoved Dean's feet off of the table. "Shut up."

Dean laughed, climbing to his feet. "Aw, I'm just messing with ya, Sammy." He ruffled Sam's hair as he walked past him. "Gotta live up to my annoying big brother reputation." He headed towards his room to read a little.

Sam and John looked at each other and laughed. The three of them took it easy to rest of the day, looking forward to a good night's rest.

Okay, so John's sleep was restful. Dean was once again woken by Sam dazedly shaking him awake again. And, like the previous two nights, Dean let Sam sleep in his bed to keep his horrible nightmare at bay. The next morning, they grabbed what they thought they would need: money, sunglasses, and jackets. They piled into the Impala and drove half an hour to the theme park. It wasn't Six Flags big, but it also wasn't some rinky-dink carnival.

The Winchesters headed towards the park entrance, getting in line to buy tickets. As they waited, more people got in line behind them. Sam watched as Dean's frame tensed more and more, little by little as more people surrounded them in the line. Dean was watching everyone around him, his eyes darting back and forth. He was unconsciously edging towards Sam and John, seeking refuge in this smothering environment. Sam didn't want this day out to turn into a horror movie.

Knowing the reaction he would get, Sam leaned over towards Dean. "Need to hold my hand?"

Dean's head snapped over towards Sam, a wide, incredulous look on his face. "I'm not a kid, Sam. I don't need you to hold my hand. Come on, dude."

He straightened up, losing his tension and crossing his arms as he waited. Sam smiled. He knew teasing his brother would give Dean the distraction and confidence he would need.

They spent the first three or four hours riding roller coasters. They found a little burger joint in the middle of the park and sat down to eat. Two booths down from them sat a couple in their late twenties. They were arguing with each other. The Winchesters tried to ignore them.

"Dude, the look on your face on that last one," laughed Dean.

"I don't like spinning rides," skulked Sam. "They're too…spinny."

Dean burst out laughing, and Sam and John smiled at the look on Dean's face. It had been a long time since they'd seen him that happy.

"You're such a girl," said Dean.

"Uh, excuse me," said Sam. "Who was the one gripping my hand like a vice and screaming on the Death Rider?"

Dean's jovial smile morphed into a glare. "It went really high, Sam!"

It was Sam's turn to laugh at the look on Dean's face.

"Don't argue with me!"

The Winchesters looked over at the arguing couple. The man had a death grip o his girlfriend's wrist.

"I know you've been seeing him!" said the guy.

Sam and John stared down at the table. Sam looked up to see Dean staring at the couple, his jaw clenched.

"That's not true, Mark," said the woman.

Mark pulled the girl's wrist towards him. "Don't lie to me."

Dean recognized the look in Mark's eyes…a dangerous look he'd seen many times.

"Mark…" said the woman, twisting her wrist in Mark's grasp.

Dean got to his feet as Sam and John watched in shock. John himself had been about to do something, but they watched in disbelief as Dean did it for them. The last conflict Dean had been in, he hadn't been able to fight back. Now, he was standing up for someone else.

Dean marched over to the couple's table. "Hey, pal." Mark looked slowly up at him. "Leave the girl alone."

Mark glared at him. "Why don't you mind your own business."

"All I'm saying is, take it easy on her," said Dean with a hard gaze. "Try talking to her instead of intimidating her."

Mark released the woman's hand and stood up in front of Dean. "How I deal with my girl is none of your business. I'll treat her how I want. If I want to bend her over the table and hammer her till she cries, you can't do a thing about it."

Dean brought his fist forward into the guy's nose. Mark toppled backwards against the table. Dean stood firm, staring him down. Mark stared in shock at Dean, but then snarled and brought his knee forward. Dean blocked the knee, ramming his elbow down on Mark's diaphragm. Mark gasped as he struggled to draw breath.

By now, the entire place was watching, frozen in place.

Mark stood, swinging an arm at Dean's head. Dean ducked, so Mark's momentum spun him around, his back facing Dean. Dean grabbed Mark's other arm, twisting it up behind his back. Dean slammed Mark face-first onto the table, twisting his arm.

"I said…leave the girl alone," Dean growled.

A man grabbed Dean's arms, holding him still. Another man—dressed in a park security uniform—walked towards Dean with handcuffs (the plastic zip-tie kind).

"Freeze!" said the officer holding Dean.

Sam and John jumped up from their seats.

"Wait, he didn't do anything!" said Sam. "It was the guy—"

"He attacked me," said the woman, standing.

"This man?" asked the officer, gesturing to Dean.

The woman shook her head. She pointed at Mark. "He hurt me, tried to attack me."

"And him?" asked the officer, tipping his head towards Dean.

"He saved me," said the woman.

The officers released Dean and grabbed the guy, taking him out of the building. The woman latched onto Dean, hugging him. Dean stood there, his eyes wide as the woman embraced him. He still wasn't really used to human contact. He'd been around his family long enough; he was comfortable around _them_, but this was a complete stranger. He was a little uneasy.

"Thank you," said the woman. She pulled away from him. "He was always a bastard. I just didn't know how to get away from him."

Dean nodded. "You're welcome."

The woman went with an employee to calm down and rest.

"Dean…" said Sam. He smiled. "That was amazing…"

Dean smiled. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," said John. "You did great."

"Thanks," said Dean. "I just…I couldn't let that guy do anything."

John and Sam smiled, very relieved at the way Dean had handled that guy. Not only had he saved that girl from what sounded like an abusive relationship, but he was learning to stick up for himself, to not run away from a fight because it happened to remind him of Carl.

"Come on," said Sam. "Let's get out of here."

They spent another two or three hours in the park. On the way home, Dean fell asleep in the backseat, worn out from their day of theme park fun. When they got home, they all went straight to bed.

*************************************************SPN*****************************************************

Sam jolted awake in the middle of the night, breathing heavily. He took a couple deep breaths before pulling his blankets off and heading into Dean's room. Without waking Dean up, he just climbed in next to Dean. Dean curled over towards Sam in his sleep, putting his arm around him. Sam fell restfully into sleep, his recurring nightmare disappearing.

Monday saw John back at work. After breakfast, Dean walked up to Sam.

"Let's go somewhere," said Dean.

Sam looked up at him. "What?"

"Come on," said Dean. "I can't stand another week day holed up in the house. Let's go somewhere."

Sam shrugged. "Okay. Where?"

"Uh…supposed to be an 'End of Thanksgiving' Festival in the park today," said Dean. "We could go hang out, drive around…What do you say?"

"Yeah, sounds great," said Sam.

They piled into Sam's car—a dark blue '98 Ford Taurus—and headed to the park. Sure enough, a festival was in full swing. Sam and Dean worked their way through the crowds, taking in the sights, booths and carnival food. After about three hours, they came to a rest on a park bench.

"Ooh, I think I see a pretzel guy," said Dean. "Wait here?"

Sam looked at him, hesitant. Sam had not let Dean out of his sight in a crowd since they got him back. But, like he himself had said, they needed to give Dean a chance.

"Sure, I'll be right here," said Sam.

Dean stalked off into the crowd towards the vendor. The whole time he sat there, Sam kept telling himself, "He's alright, he can handle himself." Sam sat for a couple minutes, finding his attention drawn to a small family across the way.

A father walked with his two boys towards a carousel. The eldest son looked about ten or twelve, and the youngest was maybe five. The eldest grabbed onto his little brother's hand, making sure he held on tight.

Sam smiled as he watched the family of three. In another life, that could've been them…normal, happy…carefree.

He looked down at his watch and frowned. Dean had been gone ten minutes. There's no way it would take him that long.

Sam got up and began heading in the direction Dean went. He found the pretzel vendor fifty feet away, but Dean wasn't in sight. Sam's heart began to pound as he flashed back to fifteen years ago…

Dean was missing.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

**STOP! If you jumped to the last chapter, I warn you, I posted two chapters. Go back to chapter TEN! GO!**

Sam spun around on the spot, looking for his brother. He couldn't see him anywhere. He searched in every direction, not knowing what to do.

_How could I have let this happen? _Sam thought. _How could I have let him get taken again?_

Sam ran his hands through his hair, tears beginning to well in his eyes.

_What have I done?_

Sam turned to his right, his gaze swimming through the crowd. He froze, looking back towards a park bench. Sam let out a sigh of relief, dropping his hands from his hair. He marched over to the bench, fists clenched at his side.

"What the hell is this?" asked Sam.

Dean unlatched himself from the girl's mouth and looked up at Sam with a smirk. "Hey, Sammy. This is April. She's—"

"Where were you?" said Sam, holding in a growl.

Dean frowned. "Sorry, I was getting the pretzels and then I saw this young lady, and—"

"How could you?" Sam threw at Dean.

Dean frowned again at Sam and looked at April. "Will you excuse us?"

"Yeah, sure," said April, throwing an unsure glance at Sam before leaving.

Dean stood up. "Sam, what is your problem?"

"You went off making out while I was waiting for you?" said Sam.

"Sam, I'm twenty-six," said Dean. "I can do what I want. And I think you can take care of yourself—"

"You didn't tell me where you were!" yelled Sam. "I went looking for you, and I couldn't find you anywhere!"

Dean's eyes widened as he finally caught on. "Oh, God…" He frowned in anguish. "Sammy…I never thought of it that way…"

"I couldn't find you," said Sam, looking all of seven years old again. "I thought you were…"

Ignoring his ego telling him this was a public place, Dean pulled Sam into his arms, hugging him tight. Sam embraced him just as tight, breathing hard.

"I'm here, Sammy," Dean told him.

A wolf-whistle sounded to their right, and they broke apart, faces red.

"Uh…let's…get out of here," mumbled Dean.

"Yeah," said Sam.

They made their way to the exit and got in the car, driving back into town. They stopped at a diner to eat. Dean noticed that Sam was still a little edgy.

Dean leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Sam…I'm sorry I scared you. I didn't think that it would look like…"

Sam shook his head. "It's okay. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. It's just…It felt too familiar, you know?"

Dean nodded. "Well, from now on, I'll make sure you know where I am."

Sam smiled. "Thanks."

They enjoyed the rest of their day, driving around for a while before going back to the house to take it easy the rest of the day. Sam noticed Dean was mostly quiet and…contemplative. It was very un-like Dean.

"You okay?" Sam asked later that day.

Dean jolted out of his stupor. "Huh?"

"You okay?" asked Sam.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

Sam frowned, wanting to get to the bottom of whatever was bugging Dean. **Something** was on his mind.

***************************************************SPN*******************************************************

_The captor picked up a crowbar and swung it down on Dean's leg._

"_Ah!" Dean yelled in pain._

_The crowbar came down on his other leg._

"_Ah!" Dean cried out again._

_The crowbar collided with his ribs, shattering a couple._

"_AHH!" Dean screamed. He looked up at the guy through tears._

_The captor glared down at Dean. "You pathetic bastard…you don't deserve to live."_

_The captor raised the crowbar, bringing it down on Dean's head in a fatal blow._

Sam's eyes snapped open in the dark, darting around the room. He sat up, pulling the covers off of himself and sitting on the edge of the bed. He rubbed a hand across his face. He got up and walked out into the hall, staring through Dean's doorway to where Dean was sleeping. Shaking his head, Sam walked downstairs and got himself a cup of water. He sat down at the table and drank from time to time, thinking.

"Nightmare again?"

Sam looked up at Dean in the doorway. He sighed and nodded. Dean walked over and sat down across the table.

"I just…" said Sam, rubbing his forehead, "I'm so tired of these nightmares. They won't leave me alone, and it's the same one every night. It's…it's so real. You're…tied up, and this guy is beating you, and then he kills you. I-I don't know how much more I can take."

"Hey," said Dean. "I am right here. Nothing's gonna happen to me. And I am fine with what's happened. I mean, it wasn't a bucket of laughs, but…I'm over it. Quit beating yourself up about it."

Sam nodded, rubbing his forehead again.

"You okay?" asked Dean.

"Yeah," said Sam. "This is all just giving me a headache. And I…I kind of don't want to go back to sleep. I don't want to have that dream again."

They sat there for a couple minutes.

"Wanna watch some TV?" asked Dean.

Sam frowned. "You're gonna stay up with me?"

"Yeah, why not?" said Dean. "Come on, there's always bad horror movies on in the middle of the night that we can make fun of."

Sam smiled. " Alright."

They headed into the living room and watched Scifi channel (not Syfy—that didn't come till, like, last year) until John walked in the next morning.

"What are you boys doing up so early?" asked John.

"We've been up for…jeez, six hours," said Dean, looking at the clock.

"Why?" asked John.

Dean glanced at Sam. "Felt like an all-nighter. Sounded good at the time."

John smiled. "Alright."

He got ready for work as Sam and Dean got ready for another day taking it easy. A little later that morning, Sam read in his room for a while before coming back downstairs. He walked into the kitchen to see Dean sitting at the table with Sam's computer.

"Whatcha doing?" asked Sam.

Dean quickly closed the laptop, wiping at his eyes. Sam realized he'd been _crying_.

"Nothing," said Dean, getting to his feet. "Just fooling around."

He left the room in a hurry, and Sam watched him go in confusion. He looked back at the laptop and walked over to it, opening it up. A window was open, apparently having been playing a video. Sam pressed play and watched.

"_Come on, Dean," came a woman's voice._

_Mary Winchester appeared on the screen, squatting in the living room._

"_Come on, baby," said Mary. "Come to Mommy."_

_A one-year-old boy came into view, stumbling towards her._

"_That's it, Dean," said Mary. "A little closer."_

_Dean toppled into Mary's arms, and she picked him up, spinning him around._

"_You did it!" cried Mary._

"_That's my boy!" came John's voice from behind the camera._

Sam stopped the video and closed the laptop.

_What was with Dean lately? _Sam wondered.

It wasn't all that weird to watch a video of your mother when you miss her. But with how Dean was acting lately…brooding and nostalgic and introspective. Sam was just wondering what Dean was up to.

He got his answer that night. At dinner, the three of them were eating when Dean finally spoke.

"I want to hunt again," said Dean.

John and Sam stopped, staring at him.

"What?" asked John.

"I want to get back into hunting," Dean told them.

"You do?" asked Sam. "You sure this isn't a…cabin fever thing?"

"Well, yeah, a little," said Dean. "But, mostly…" He took a moment. "Look, the other day at the park…with the couple in the burger joint…Saving that girl felt right. It felt normal. It felt…good. I just…" He shifted in his chair. "I want to do something more than just sit here. I want to help people again."

"You sure?" asked John.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. I'm sure."

John looked at Sam, who nodded his consent.

John looked at Dean. "Okay. We'll start training you."

Dean smiled. "Thanks."

They went back to dinner with a new plan for the future.

*************************************************SPN*************************************************

Dean was roused from his sleep once again by sounds from Sam's room. He went in there to find Sam having a nightmare again. He decided not to wake him, and just climbed in next to him. Sam slowly fell still and slept soundly.

Dean, however, was really starting to worry about Sam. The kid's nightmares were still haunting him for the fifth night in a row. Obviously, his guilt was still eating him up. He just needed to find a way to get it through to Sam that it was not his fault. With that thought, Dean fell asleep.

Dean woke up the next morning to find Sam already up. He walked downstairs and saw Sam in the backyard. Dean walked out onto the porch and looked around. It looked like army training grounds out there.

"What's this?" asked Dean.

"Dad said I'm supposed to start training you," said Sam. "So get back in there and eat up. I made breakfast. Then be back out here. We'll get started."

Dean smiled. "Who died and made you the big brother?"

Sam smiled as Dean walked into the house to eat.

After breakfast, Sam trained Dean. They refined Dean's fighting skills and combat moves. Sam taught Dean how to shoot (well, he kind of already knew how to use a gun, but Sam taught him how to be a good shot). They even did this obstacle thing where Sam shouted out instructions ("Ghost on your left!" "Demon behind you!", and so on). Basically at the end of the day, Dean was exhausted. When John came home, Dean was already showered and eating, tired beyond belief.

"How'd training go?" asked John.

"Great," said Sam. "Caught on like a professional."

"Yeah?" asked John.

"Yep," said Dean. "It's in the genes."

"We, uh, we're out of food, by the way," said Sam.

"Alright, let's go get some more," said John.

"You guys go ahead," said Dean. "I'm just gonna go to sleep. I'm beat."

Sam and John looked cautiously at Dean.

"You sure?" asked Sam. "I mean, one of us can stay with you."

"Guys, I'm fine," Dean told them, putting his plates in the sink. "You have to leave me alone at some point. I can take care of myself. You'll only be gone for, what, an hour?"

"But—" began John.

"Dad, I'll be fine," Dean assured him. "Go."

John and Sam were hesitant. They'd never left Dean by himself.

"If you're sure…" started Sam.

"I'm sure," said Dean with a smile. "See you in the morning."

"Okay," said John. "Good night."

"Good night," said Dean, heading upstairs.

Later that evening after Dean was asleep and Sam and John were at the grocery store, Dean felt himself being dragged back to the waking world when his door slammed closed. Dean looked over towards the door and froze, his eyes widening. He stared into the face he thought he would never see again.

"Hello, Dean," he growled, a sneer on his face. Dean stared in horror as he stepped closer. "Miss me?"

Dean fell into darkness as the guy hit him across the head.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Dean slowly came to, his mind dragging its way through the sludge. When he was finally lucid enough, he realized he couldn't move. He looked up to find his wrists tied up, the rope attached to each bedpost. His ankles were similarly tied to the other two bedposts at the foot of the bed. His shirt had been removed.

"Don't bother getting free," his captor said.

Dean turned his head to see the guy sitting in a chair in the corner…his captor, kidnapper…his abuser.

"You know that I could always tie a good knot," he said.

"What do you want?" Dean growled.

"Oh, simple," the guy said as he stood. "You killed Carl. And now…I'm gonna kill you."

"Is that so?" said Dean.

"Oh, yeah…" he said. He shook his head, glaring at Dean. "What made you think you could just kill him?"

Dean sat up as far as he could, which didn't turn out to be much, and glared right back. "He deserved to die. Your brother was a dick. I'm glad he's dead."

The guy—Tallands—lost his sneer and glared **very** angrily at Dean. He launched towards Dean, grabbing the back of Dean's head.

"You make me sick," growled Tallands.

Dean held his position, staring him in the eye. "Likewise."

Tallands roughly threw Dean's head down on the mattress and brought his fist back, punching Dean across the eye. Dean hissed in pain as he waited for the throb to fade.

"You think you're so smart," taunted Tallands.

"Damn right," muttered Dean with a smirk that was beginning to feel more and more familiar.

Tallands hit him again across his right eye. "You little smartass. You thought you'd get away with it…wouldn't get caught." He shook his head. "You thought wrong."

Tallands walks over to the corner where he had kept a few things.

"Well, I guess I'm in trouble now," said Dean, laughing. "I mean, after all, it only took you three years to find me."

"I was a little preoccupied," said Tallands, turning towards Dean. "Had kids to take care of."

Dean's eyes widened in disbelief. "Kids? **You** had kids?" He shuddered. "I'd hate to be **your **kid. God, what a way to grow up."

"Not mine," Tallands told him. "Carl's. You left them without someone to take care of them."

Dean frowned, trying to figure everything out. If Carl had other kids, why would he try so hard to replace one? Unless his son was his favorite. Maybe that's why Carl never stayed where Dean was; he had family to take care of.

"But I've been keeping an eye on you," said Tallands. "You kept disappearing off the radar…kept moving around." He pointed a finger at Dean. "Smart move." He turned toward the things piled in the corner that Dean couldn't see. "And then I found out you'd settled down. I couldn't pass that up. I came to town, but those sons of bitches never let you out of their sight long enough…until now."

Tallands turned around with something in his hand. Dean tried to see what it was through his quickly swelling right eye. It looked like a…whip. Dean glanced over at his alarm clock. Sam and John had been gone for about half an hour now.

"And I know what you're thinking," said Tallands. "Maybe Dad and Sammy can make it back in time." He chuckled as he stepped menacingly closer. "Trust me, you'll be dead long before they find you."

****************************************SPN************************************************************************

Sam stood in the line at the checkout counter of the grocery store, staring off into the distance.

"Sam?" asked John. Sam looked at him. "You okay?"

"I don't know," said Sam. "Just a feeling…Can we get back to Dean now?"

"Dean?" said John. "He's sleeping. He's fine. I mean, I understand why you're nervous. He's never been alone before, but he's fine."

"Dad, it's—" said Sam urgently.

He couldn't explain this urgency he felt. It was like those dreams where you know you should be doing something, but something stops you and you feel this humming **need** to do it still. But all you can do is sit there. That's what it felt like: like he should be doing something important, but he didn't know what.

"We just need to get home," Sam told him. "I just have this feeling that something's wrong."

John nodded. "Alright. We'll go."

They hurried through the checkout and got in the car, hurrying back to the house.

***************************************SPN*************************************************

Tallands slammed his leg down on Dean's left forearm. With how tight the ropes were, Dean's arm moved, but his hand didn't.

"AH!" Dean yelled as a pop was heard. He could feel his wrist was now dislocated, the bones rubbing the nerves raw and the tendons pulling.

Tallands picked up the whip again, lashing it down on Dean.

Dean cringed as another lash ripped his stomach open once more. He was bleeding from several lacerations on his torso. His right eye had swelled more by now, obscuring his vision. His left arm rested in a weird angle from where his wrist had been dislocated.

Another whiplash left Dean hissing in pain.

"Scream for me, you little bitch," growled Tallands.

Dean took a couple deep breaths before clenching his jaw in defiant silence. He would not let this guy have the satisfaction.

Tallands growled and threw down the whip. He picked up a crowbar and walked over to the bottom left side of the bed. He raised the crowbar and swung it down on Dean's leg.

"Ah!" Dean yelled in pain.

****************************SPN**************************************

John stopped the Impala, and they got out, looking at the house.

"Everything looks okay," said John, shrugging.

*******************************************SPN*******************************

Tallands walked to the other side of the bed, raising the crowbar again. He brought it down on Dean's right leg.

"Ah!" Dean cried out again.

**************************************SPN*****************************************

John jolted to attention. "You hear that?"

But Sam was already running headlong towards the house. Hearing Dean shout like that, Sam flashed back to his dreams. Sam threw open the door, with John right behind him.

***************************************SPN****************************************************

Tallands headed a little further up the bed, stopping at Dean's torso. He raised the crowbar and collided it into Dean's ribs, shattering a couple.

"AHH!" Dean screamed.

*************************************SPN***************************************************************

Sam ran even faster when he heard Dean's scream. He couldn't believe he was thinking this, but if his dream was anything to go by, Dean did not have much time.

***********************************************SPN*****************************************************************

Dean looked up at Tallands through tears, trying to breathe through the numbing pain. Each time his lungs moved, the bone fragments rubbed against them.

Tallands glared down at Dean. "You pathetic bastard." He moved up to the head of the bed, his back to the closed door. "You don't deserve to live."

Tallands raised the crowbar once again, aiming for Dean's head. Dean closed his eyes and waited for the fatal blow.

************************************************SPN**************************************************************

Sam reached the top of the stairs, running down the hall to Dean's room. The knob wouldn't budge, so Sam kicked the door in. A man was standing over a tied-up Dean. John barreled in as soon as the door was open and tackled the guy to the floor. Dean opened his eyes and looked in shock down at John and the guy.

Sam stood in shock for a moment—just a moment. Dean was tied to the bed—just like in his dream. He even had the same injuries. Sam quickly rushed towards Dean. Dean's eyes followed him.

"You okay?" asked Sam.

"Don't know," Dean muttered, wincing.

Sam untied Dean's limbs, helping him get to his feet. They glanced over at John to see him dragging the guy into the chair in the corner. Sam's eyes widened. It was the same guy in his dreams.

John pulled a gun out and pointed it at the guy. He walked to the bed to grab some rope. As Sam was watching the guy, Dean suddenly broke loose from Sam and marched over to the guy, punching him several times. Sam rushed forward to pull Dean off of him as John kept his gun trained on him.

"You son of a bitch!" Dean growled.

Sam pulled him away from the guy, restraining him. Dean struggled against Sam, his eyes on the guy in a snarl of rage.

"How could you, you bastard?" Dean yelled.

Despite how much it probably hurt, Dean still fought against Sam's hold.

"Dean—" began Sam.

"I was a kid, you sadistic son of a bitch!" Dean yelled.

Sam frowned, looking over at John, who looked just as confused. He looked back at Dean, who was still yelling at the guy.

"How could you treat a kid like that, you perverted dick!" Dean yelled, face now screwed up in pain and anguish as well as rage.

Sam turned Dean towards him. "Dean." Dean was still glaring at the guy. "Dean." Dean looked at him, eyes full of all kinds of hurt. "Who is that man?"

"Paul Tallands," Dean growled. "Carl's brother."

Sam's eyes widened as he put the pieces together. "Dean, did he…did he abuse you, too?"

Dean stared into Sam's eyes for a moment before nodding. Sam's jaw dropped as he looked over at Paul. Paul sat in the chair, smirking at Dean.

"Aw, he does miss me," taunted Paul.

Sam began to charge towards him, but John stepped in front of him. John glared down at Paul, hatred clear on his face.

"Uh-oh," said Paul. "I made Daddy mad."

John raised his gun and pointed it at Paul's face. He thumbed the safety off and glared at Paul, his finger on the trigger. His hand shook a little in anger.

Dean stepped slowly forward. "Don't, Dad. Let the police handle him."

John still held the gun trained on Paul. Dean placed a hand on John's outstretched arm. John faltered a little and looked over at Dean. Dean's eyes pleaded with him to spare Paul's life, not wanting more bloodshed on his behalf.

"Please, Dad," pleaded Dean. "He's not worth it."

John looked back at Paul, glaring at him. Finally, John thumbed the safety back on and lowered the gun. He turned away from Paul, slowly walking away from him.

"I knew it," said Paul. "A wimp. Just like your son."

John froze, still with his back to Paul.

"He never shut up," said Paul. "Kept crying for his brother, his father…his mother."

Sam watched his father's jaw clench.

"But he was _sooo_ much fun to play with," taunted Paul. "Oh, and you should have _heard him scream…"_

John's face twisted in rage as he turned back towards Paul, thumbing the safety off his gun and raising it.

"No!" yelled Dean.

The gun went off, and Paul yelled in pain. Dean and Sam watched as he clutched the bullet wound in his knee. John lowered the gun, glaring at Paul. Sam and Dean stared at him for a moment before Dean's body finally lost its adrenaline and collapsed. Sam rushed forward and caught him, holding him up.

"Sam, get Dean to the hospital," said John. "I'll call the cops."

Sam nodded and helped Dean out of the room. Sam threw Dean's left arm around his shoulders to spare the pain on his right side from the broken ribs. As Sam grabbed Dean's left hand, Dean hissed in pain.

"Sorry," said Sam quickly. He'd forgotten about his dislocated wrist. "Sorry."

Sam opted for just letting Dean grip Sam's shoulders as much as he could. Sam wrapped his right arm around Dean's waist to steady him. Dean kept his right arm tucked in towards his torso, trying not to move it.

They made their way slowly down the staircase, with many pain-filled groans from Dean. When they made it down to the front door and out to Sam's car, Sam helped Dean into the passenger seat. Sam rushed around to the driver's side, getting in and speeding towards the hospital.

***************************************************SPN***************************************************************

John stopped the Impala in the parking lot and rushed into the emergency room. He hurried to the counter.

"Dean Winchester?" John asked.

The nurse looked on her computer. "Third floor.

"Thank you," said John.

He rushed to the stairs, taking them two at a time, and headed towards the counter on the third floor.

"Dad."

John turned to see Sam standing from his seat in the waiting room, heading for him.

"How is he?" asked John.

"They're getting finished settling him in," Sam told him. "Uh, wrist is dislocated, couple ribs are shattered, some cuts and bruises…" He looked down at his hands. "Could've been a whole lot worse."

"But it wasn't," said John. "We saved him."

"Yeah, because I got that feeling at the store," said Sam quietly, confused.

"Sam, something you want to tell me?" asked John.

Sam looked down the hall towards Dean's room and ushered John to sit in the waiting room next to him.

"There's something Dean and I haven't been telling you," Sam told him. "Well, mostly me." He hesitated for a moment, wondering how his father would take this news. "Ever since Dean told us about Carl, and…everything on Thursday…I've been having these nightmares."

"Well, that's understandable," John told him.

"In my nightmares, Dean is held captive," Sam explained. "Tied to his bed, being whipped and beaten…by Paul."

John hesitated, staring at Sam. He wasn't entirely sure what Sam was saying, but he had a pretty good idea.

"Sam…" John began, "it's perfectly normal to have weird dreams like this. It was probably a coincidence."

"Dad, I **saw** it," Sam insisted. "The swollen eye, the dislocated wrist, the guy's face…I **saw** Paul! I watched as Paul beat Dean with a crowbar and then smashed his head in." Sam looked into John's eyes, begging him to understand. "Dad, I dreamt about Dean's attack…for **days** before it happened."

John watched with wide eyes, unsure of what to make of it.

"It was the same one every night," said Sam. "And they felt so real…I guess now I know why."

"You're saying this was a vision?" asked John.

"How else do you explain dreaming about Dean's attack in perfect detail a week before it happens?" said Sam, growing a little hysteric. "Dad, what's happening to me?"

"Hey," said John, placing his hands on Sam's shoulder. "We are going to figure this out…as a family. Nothing has changed. But we need to hold it together for Dean right now. He needs us right now. Can you do that?"

Sam nodded. He began thinking of the attack and what it could do to Dean. "You don't think he'll have a relapse, do you?"

"I don't know," said John. "We'll just have to wait and see."

"Winchester?"

Sam and John stood to face the doctor as he approached.

"Is he okay?" asked Sam.

"How is he?" asked John.

"Can we see him?" asked Sam.

"Calm down," said the doctor, holding a hand up. "He's doing fine. His right eye sustained some blunt trauma and has swollen slightly. The lacerations on his torso have been treated, and the deeper ones have been stitched. His left wrist has been reset and wrapped, but he will have to take it easy with that hand for about a week. As for his ribs, the blunt trauma from the crowbar has bruised the majority of his right side, but only broke two of them. He will have pain moving and breathing for the next month or so. He should not lean or rest on that side while it is healing. We have wrapped his torso to avoid too much movement. Due to the pain, we have given him morphine. He is asleep right now, but you are welcome to go see him. He's in room 318."

"Thank you, doctor," said Sam.

He and John headed for room 318 and found Dean lying asleep in the hospital bed. They both sat down on either side of the bed.

Dean looked so small and broken lying in that bed. The right top side of his face was a mix of red and purple surrounding a swollen eye lid. His arms rested on top of the blanket pulled up to his chest. His left arm from his fingers to the middle of his forearm had been wrapped in adhesive bandages. A couple faint bruises and superficial cuts graced his arms. His chest rose and fell as he slept through the soon-to-come pain. The heart monitor beeped steadily in the room.

John and Sam sat in their respective chairs and waited for Dean to wake.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

John reached a hand forward, gently running it across Dean's forehead.

_Is this what's become of my boy? _John wondered. _Is this what he had to put up with all those years?_

John brushed the hair off of Dean's head. He looked up to see Sam watching Dean. He looked tired and half dead.

"You okay?" asked John.

Without taking his eyes off of Dean, Sam nodded.

"Sam," said John. Sam looked up at him. "Get some sleep."

Sam shook his head, looking back at Dean. "Not till he wakes up."

"Sam, you can't help Dean if you're not a hundred percent," said John. "I know you're worried, but Dean will understand you taking a nap."

"I know he will," Sam told him. "I don't think I could sleep if I tried."

John frowned. "Worried about something?"

"No," began Sam, frowning. "Maybe. Yeah—I just—I'm not sure whether I'd call it worry or not."

"What do you mean?" asked John.

Sam shook his head, so torn between his thoughts and emotions. "I don't know what I mean."

As though sensing Sam's distress, Dean let out a moan from the bed. Sam and John both looked at him. Dean turned his head from side to side, bringing his left hand towards his head. As he moved his dislocated left arm, he hissed in pain. His face screwed up in pain as he began to curl onto his right side. The increased pressure on his broken ribs stabbed through him, and he cried out a little, wincing as he turned back onto his back.

Dean's eyes flew open as he hissed. "What a wake-up call."

"Hey," said John. "How you doing?"

"Alright, I guess," said Dean. "Aside from the stitches and the bruises and the wrist and the ribs…"

"Well, I'll go get the doctor," said John. He put a hand on Dean's arm. "I'm glad you're okay."

John stood and exited the room.

"Do you want to sit up?" asked Sam.

"No, that'll hurt too much," Dean told him.

"You sure you're okay?" Sam asked.

Dean looked at him. "Yeah, I'm sure."

Dean was more okay than he'd been in years. He didn't care about the beating. It meant nothing to him…because this time was different. All his other beatings, he woke up with nothing but an empty room in an abandoned house, knowing he wouldn't be getting free. Now…he had woken to two smiling faces that reassured him he would be just fine.

Dean noticed Sam's constant frown. "Are you okay?"

"It's just…" began Sam. "Your attack…my dreams…"

"Come on, Sam," Dean told him. "It was a freak coincidence. I mean, it's not like you dreamed the attack exactly as it happened."

Sam gave him a look.

"No way," said Dean. "That's not possible."

"Dean, I watched Paul beat and kill you before it happened," Sam told him.

"But he didn't kill me," Dean pointed out.

"Because Dad and I got there in time," Sam explained. "I had this feeling at the grocery store. I can't explain it. But I got this feeling that I should get home. When we pulled up, we heard you yelling. I feared the worst." Sam dropped his head, not able to look Dean in the eye. "Dean, I'm sorry."

"Sam, if it wasn't for you, I'd be dead," Dean assured him. "Why should you be sorry for that?"

Sam looked into his face, frowning. "This…psychic vision…whatever…it doesn't freak you?"

Dean shrugged a little, but winced and stopped. "Sure, yeah, it's a little freaky, and we'll figure it out later, but…your vision stopped someone from killing me." He smiled reassuringly. "How can that be bad?"

Sam smiled, putting a hand on Dean's arm. "You're right."

"Of course I'm right," smirked Dean. "I'm the big brother."

Sam and Dean laughed as someone knocked on the door. They looked over to see John had returned with the doctor.

"Hello, Dean. I am Dr. Lowsen. How are you feleing?"

Dean shrugged as much as he could. "Okay, I guess."

"How's the pain?" asked Dr. Lowsen.

"Bearable," Dean muttered.

"Now, I don't want you to be brave here," said Dr. Lowsen. "If you're in pain, we should give you medicine to make your recovery as comfortable as possible."

Dean avoided their eyes. "Well…my ribs…kind of ache."

Sam rolled his eyes, chuckling. "Only **you** would turn down morphine."

Dean smiled sheepishly. "I just don't want to sleep anymore."

"It's okay," said Dr. Lowsen. "We can give you a smaller dose. It won't be as effective as the usual one, so you will still feel some discomfort, but it will take most of the pain away. Although, I urge you to reconsider. You will be more comfortable with the normal dose."

"Thanks, but I'll take the smaller one," Dean told him. "I can deal. I just…don't want to sleep right now."

"If you're sure…" said Dr. Lowsen.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Dean assured him. "Thanks."

"No problem," said Dr. Lowsen.

Dr. Lowsen exited the room, leaving the small family alone.

"You, uh…wanna watch some TV?" asked Sam.

"Yeah," said Dean. "That sounds good. And, uh, a little food would be nice."

John laughed. "First two things on your mind: entertainment and food."

Sam and Dean laughed, and then Sam stood.

"I'll see what the nurse can dig up," said Sam.

He walked out of the room to find a nurse. John sat down next to Dean's bed. He was quiet for a moment, and the two of them silently stared at each other.

"Dean, I'm so sorry," John finally told him.

Dean turned his head more towards him, frowning. "For what?"

"I left you alone," said John. "I promised I wouldn't let you get hurt anymore, and I left you alone."

"Come on, Dad," said Dean. "What were the odds that the first time you left me alone, some psychopath would jump me?"

"I promised that things had changed," John continued. "I promised that you wouldn't have to go through anything like that again, and then…"

"Dad, I didn't," Dean told him.

John frowned. "Didn't what?"

"Didn't go through it," said Dean.

John frowned again, looking at the numerous evidence of Dean's beating. "You didn't?"

"No," Dean insisted. "Before, I had nothing to look forward to, nothing to take my mind off the beating. This time, you guys are here. I don't have to worry about it anymore. You didn't let me down. You're doing exactly what you're supposed to be doing."

John smiled as Sam walked back in with a nurse. Sam was carrying a tray of food, and the nurse carried a syringe, a couple of alcohol wipes and a glass ampule of medication.

"Hello, Mr. Winchester," greeted the nurse as she set her materials on the bedside table. "My name is Camry."

Dean smiled at her. "You can call me Dean."

Sam and John rolled their eyes at each other as Sam set the food tray down on the table in the room until the bedside table was free. Camry walked to the door and pumped some foam hand sanitizer out of the pump on the wall. She walked back over to the bedside table as she rubbed the sanitizer on her hands.

"Okay, Dean," Camry smiled, opening an alcohol wipe. "I have your morphine. Are you ready?"

"Born ready," Dean flirted.

Camry smiled and shook her head as she grabbed the little glass bottle and an alcohol wipe. She placed the wipe on the top of the bottle and broke it at the neck. Grabbing the syringe, she stuck the needle in the bottle and turned them both upside down. She pulled the medicine into the syringe and put the bottle in a sharps container on the wall. Opening another alcohol wipe, she popped open a cap on a port in Dean's IV line. Wiping the tip of the port off with the wipe, she stuck the needle in and pressed down on the plunger of the syringe.

"There we go," said Camry. "Should kick in, in no time."

She threw the needle in the sharps container and the rest of the stuff in the trash can.

"You need anything else?" asked Camry.

Dean smirked suggestively.

Camry smiled and put a hand on her hip. "Within reason."

Dean laughed. "I'm fine."

Camry left the room, once again using the hand sanitizer, and Dean glanced hopefully at the tray of food on the table.

"What'd you bring me?" asked Dean.

"Uh, whatever they had for patient meals," said Sam.

"Need some help getting up?" asked Sam.

"No, _Mother_, I don't need help," Dean grumbled.

Sam backed off and waited for the inevitable ask for assistance. Dean placed his right arm on the mattress next to him. He winced as he held his wrapped left arm to his chest and tried to sit up. He groaned as he collapsed back onto the bed.

Dean sighed in resignation. "Guys…need a little help…"

Sam and John stepped forward. John pressed a button that tilted the head of the bed up. Sam grabbed hold of Dean's arms and helped him scoot up the bed a little so he could sit. Dean hissed and groaned, wincing as he moved. He finally settled into the bed, closing his eyes to wait for the pain to fade again.

"Okay?" asked John.

Dean nodded as the pain faded. "Yeah, better now." He opened his eyes. "Where's my food?"

Sam chuckled and brought the tray to the bedside table. He rolled the table over to the bed so it hovered over Dean's lap.

Dean took the plastic cover off of the plate and glared at it. "Uh…hospital food…"

"Oh, come on," said John. "There's roast beef, and…green beans, and…some…orange-looking stuff…"

"Exactly," muttered Dean, putting the cover on the side of the table.

"But, hey, look," said Sam. "They put some jello and…apple juice on there."

"Whatever happened to burgers and soda?" complained Dean.

"Hospital rules," said Sam. "When you're a patient, you eat healthy. That way, they don't have to worry about nutrition while you're here."

"It still sucks," Dean grumbled as he picked up his fork and began poking at his roast beef.

"Well, eat up," said John. "We'll see if there's a game on or something."

He picked up the remote and turned the TV on, searching through the channels until he found a football game. They enjoyed the game, and Dean tried to enjoy his meal for about an hour—Dean was done with his food in twenty minutes.

As the game was wrapping up, there came a knock on the door. The Winchesters looked over at the doorway to see two men in suits standing in it.

"Afternoon, gentlemen," said the blonde-haired man, taking something out of his inside jacket pocket. "I'm Agent Smetzer. This is Agent Palkins."

The two men flashed their badges real quick before putting them back in their pockets. Dean glanced at John and Sam before settling his gaze back on the agents.

"We have some questions for you," said Agent Palkins.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

**WARNING! Harsh flashback later in this chapter. It does not involve rape, though. Just a small beating. Also, I would have had more for this chapter, but it was already long enough and I discovered it made a great cliffhanger.**

**Enjoy!**

The three Winchesters stared at the detectives for a moment.

"Questions about what?" asked John.

"Paul Tallands and his brother Carl," said Smetzer.

John stepped closer to them. "Can I see your badges again?"

"Certainly," said Smetzer. He and his partner took their badges out and handed them to John.

While John was examining them, Sam scooted over to Dean's bed.

"You expecting anyone else to come after you?" whispered Sam.

"No, it was just Carl and Paul," Dean told him in a whisper. Sam shot him a wary, questioning glance. "No, seriously, it was just Carl and Paul. I promise."

Sam could see the sincerity in Dean's eyes, and he nodded.

John stared hard at the FBI badges, looking for anything that would tip him off that they were fake. But he'd made enough phony IDs in his time to know that these were real. He relaxed as he handed them back.

"Alright," said John. "What do you need to know?"

"Well, we need to ask Dean some questions," said Palkins.

John and Sam tensed, knowing they wanted to know everything. Not only about Carl's death, but what he had done to Dean.

Dean picked up on their unease. "It's okay. What do you need to know?"

"Well, Paul Tallands told us quite a story," said Smetzer. "He claims that you killed his brother Carl."

Dean tensed along with his brother and father. What were they supposed to do in this situation?

"Is that true?" asked Smetzer.

Dean didn't know what to tell them. Does he lie and keep running and most likely get caught? Or does he tell the truth and go to jail?

"My son wouldn't hurt anyone," John told them. "He's—"

"It's alright, Dad," Dean spoke up quietly.

John turned to look at him.

"If I don't come clean now, I'll be running the rest of my life," Dean told him.

"Then you **did** murder Carl Tallands?" asked Palkins.

Dean nodded. "I did."

"But it's not his fault!" Sam immediately told them. "Carl beat Dean! And if Dean hadn't fought back, Carl would have killed him! Dean didn't mean to kill him!"

"You say Carl beat him?" asked Smetzer.

"Yes, sir," said John. "When I finally found my son a month ago, he was a wreck. He finally told us the whole story."

Smetzer sighed and nodded. "We were afraid of that."

The Winchesters stared at him, wondering what was going on.

"It was never put into the report, because it was an ongoing investigation," explained Smetzer. "When we found Carl's body in the abandoned house, we, of course, searched the property for clues. We found trace amounts of blood in several rooms, especially one of the bedrooms. We also found bloodied items—whips, knives, a wrench—"

Smetzer broke off when he saw Dean staring at the bed and beginning to grow pale.

"And other items," finished Smetzer. "We also saw the barred windows and the locks on the doors. We came to the conclusion that Carl had kidnapped someone and tortured them. That person must have fought back one day in self-defense."

Dean began wringing his hands.

"Don't worry, son," said Palkins. "You're not going to jail."

Dean looked up at him, frowning. "I'm not?"

Semtzer shook his head. "No. Based on the evidence of Carl's actions—and the actions of his brother—we deem what you did self-defense. There will be no legal action against you."

John and Sam relaxed, letting out held breaths. They sat down on the other side of Dean's bed so they could look at the agents.

"Wait a minute," said John. "If there was blood in the house, why didn't you find Dean sooner?"

Dean looked to the agents for their answer. He'd often wondered that, too. For all the DNA he left behind, surely the cops would have found him.

"Well, we ran the blood through the system, but we came up with nothing," said Palkins.

John nodded. _Of course…_

The three of them knew they'd been off the grid since 1983. A simple DNA search twenty years later wouldn't wield anything.

"Now, what we need to know…" said Smetzer, pulling a tape recorder out and holding it up, "…is what happened."

"You mean, with Paul, or…" asked Dean.

"Your father has already informed the authorities about your encounter with Paul," said Smetzer. "We need a statement from you about what Carl did."

Dean looked over at John and Sam. They were the only people he had ever shared his past with. He didn't know if he could tell it again.

"And we'd have to record it for the official record," said Palkins.

Dean looked at them and then looked down at the bed. A hand grabbed onto his, holding tight. Dean followed it up to Sam's eyes. He was giving Dean the reassurance that he would be there…just like when Dean had told their father.

Dean looked up at the agents and nodded. Smetzer pressed the record button and placed the recorder on the bedside table.

Dean proceeded to tell the agents the entire story—the beatings, the drinking, the rape, the brothers' treatment of him, the punished escape attempt, the twelve years of captivity, the lethal fight, the three years of wandering, the reunion with his family, and the encounter with Paul.

It was a long, tedious story. Dean had to stop several times to gather himself. Finally, the tale was told, and Smetzer stowed his recorder away.

"Thank you for your cooperation," said Palkins. "Your story must be very difficult to recount."

"I think that's enough," said John. "I'm sorry, agents, but Dean has had a long day."

"Of course," said Smetzer. "And, uh…you might want to get tested for, uh…STDs."

Dean's eyes widened. _Oh, God…Why didn't I think of that sooner?_

"Just, uh…just in case," said Smetzer.

He and Palkins headed for the door. Smetzer stopped and turned back.

"I'm very sorry for what you've had to endure," said Smetzer. He followed Palkins out the door.

"God, I didn't even think of that," said Dean. "Of course, STDs…Should've been the first thing on my mind…"

"It's okay," said John. "We'll take care of that. Do you…do you want the doctor to do that now…or later?"

"Um…now, I guess," said Dean.

"I'll get the doctor," said John, exiting the room.

"Do you think that…" began Sam, fearing the worst.

"Well, why not?" grumbled Dean. "It would be just perfect if I got a horrible disease."

"Dean, I-I'm sure everything will be fine," said Sam.

Dean smiled at him. "Thanks for saying so."

John returned with Dr. Lowsen.

"Dean, I understand you want STD testing?" asked Dr. Lowsen.

Dean nodded.

"He, uh, has a…" began Sam. He looked towards Dean, who nodded for him to continue. "He has a history of…sexual abuse."

Dr. Lowsen nodded. "I see. In that case, I will take a blood sample and a urine sample. And I won't ask you for a physical exam, but I will need to ask you some questions."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, okay."

"Now, would you like the blood sample first, or head into the bathroom first to get the moving around over with?" asked Dr. Lowsen.

"Uh…I'll get up first," Dean told him.

"Okay, I'll be right back with the sample container," said Dr. Lowsen, exiting the room.

"Okay, let's get you up first," said John.

John stepped over to the right side of Dean's bed as Sam stayed on the left. John put a hand under Dean's shoulder as Sam did the same. They helped Dean edge up off the mattress, and John helped him swing his legs over the side of the bed. Dean stopped, wincing as he held his right arm close over his wrapped torso.

"You okay?" asked John as Sam walked over to join them.

Dean nodded as Dr. Lowsen walked in with a plastic up and a lid.

"Alright, here you go," said Dr. Lowsen, handing the cup and lid to Dean. "I'll have the nurse collect it in about ten, fifteen minutes."

"Thanks, Doc," said Dean. The doctor left the room.

"Ready?" asked Sam.

"Yeah," said Dean. "Let's get this over with."

Sam helped Dean to his feet, but Dean groaned.

"What is it?" asked Sam frantically. "What's wrong?"

"My legs are sore," said Dean. "From the…crowbar, you know?"

Sam nodded. "Right."

Dean began shuffling towards the bathroom, Sam one step behind him in cases his strength gave out. They finally made it to the bathroom, Dean leaning on the sink while Sam stood in the doorway.

"You good?" asked Sam.

Dean nodded. "Yeah."

"Good," said Sam. "Good."

Dean looked up at him, waiting. "Sam?"

"Yeah?" asked Sam.

"Get out," said Dean.

"Oh, right, sorry," said Sam. He grabbed the door and closed it.

John chuckled as Sam walked over to a chair and sat down.

A couple of minutes later, Sam helped Dean back to the bed. Ten minutes later, Camry came in with a plastic bag.

"Afternoon, Dean," said Camry. "How are we all?"

"Good," said Dean.

"Great," said Camry. She put on some gloves and headed into the bathroom, grabbing the container from the sink ledge where Dean had left it. She slipped it into the bag and closed it. "And they will be around in about an hour to collect a blood sample."

"Okay, thanks," said Dean.

"Do you need anything?" asked Camry.

"No, I'm fine," said Dean.

"Alright," said Camry.

Sure enough, a nurse came in an hour later with a car of supplies and vials. She took some blood and went on her way. Dr. Lowsen also visited and asked a couple questions. He then told them they would have the test results in the morning. And after some nudging—probably mostly due to Dean's past—the staff let Sam and John stay overnight. John let Sam take the small, built-in sofa in the wall that pulled out into a small bed. John slept in one of the chairs, his legs resting on another chair. The three of them fell into a restful sleep.

*******************************SPN**************************************************

"Dean."

Dean moaned, trying to ignore whatever was calling his name for about the fifth time.

"Dean."

Dean finally opened his eyes in annoyance. "What?"

"Your breakfast is here," said John.

Dean looked around. Sure enough, a tray of food sat on his bedside table. He looked over to see Sam still asleep on the pull-out bed. John pushed a button on the bed to raise it to a sitting position.

"You wanna eat?" asked John.

"Uh, in a minute," said Dean. "Help me up."

John helped Dean to stand, and Dean made his way to the bathroom, closing the door. Roused by the smell of food, Sam woke up.

"Dean?" Sam asked, looking towards the bed, but Dean wasn't there. "Dean!"

"Relax, Sam," said John. "He's in the bathroom."

Sam sat up. "They give us the results yet?"

"No, they haven't been in here yet," said John. "Well, other than the nurses to check up on Dean."

Dean opened the bathroom door and walked out, heading back to the bed.

"Alright," said Dean. "Hopefully breakfast is better."

"Yeah," said John. He looked at Sam. "Hey, I'll go get us something from the cafeteria."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, sure."

John left the room, and Dean dug into his meal—bacon and eggs. About five minutes later while Sam was brushing his teeth, Dr. Lowsen walked into the room.

"Good morning, Dean," said Lowsen. "How are you?"

"Better," said Dean. "Still hurts a little."

Dr. Lowsen nodded, raising the file in his hand. "Well, I just got the results of your lab work."

"What do they say?" asked Sam from the doorway of the bathroom, finished brushing his teeth.

"I've looked through everything, and…" said Dr. Lowsen, "I can't find any abnormalities or signs of disease."

Dean stared at him. "I'm clean?"

Dr. Lowsen smiled, nodding. "You're clean."

If it wouldn't end up causing a problem—it being a public hospital and everything—Dean would have cheered or something.

Dean smiled, looking over at Sam. "I'd say this calls for some, uh…pie or ice cream or something."

Dr. Lowsen laughed. "I'll have the nurse bring you something."

"Thanks, Doc," said Dean.

Five minutes later, John walked in to find Sam and Dean laughing as Dean polished off a small cup of ice cream.

"What's this?" asked John, setting the two bags of food down on the table. "Ice cream for breakfast?"

"We're celebrating," Sam told him.

"Celebrating what?" asked John.

"I am the very picture of health and beauty," smiled Dean.

John frowned. "The test results?"

Sam smiled. "Negative."

John smiled also. "Negative?"

"Yep," said Dean, setting the empty cup and spoon on his half-eaten tray.

"That's great!" said John. He picked up one bag and handed it to Sam. "Here's your breakfast."

John, Dean and Sam relaxed the rest of the morning until Dean asked his nurse Natalie to have Dr. Lowsen stop by. Natalie told him Dr. Lowsen would visit as soon as he was free. Sam and John exchanged looks, wondering why Dean needed to talk to him.

Around noon, a knock came at the door, and they turned to see the two agents there.

"Hello, Dean," said Smetzer, nodding at the three of them. "Sam, John."

"Hey, Mulder," said Dean. "Scully."

Smetzer and Palkins chuckled.

"What brings you here?" asked John, a little defensively. "Do you have more questions for Dean?"

"Yes, unfortunately," said Smetzer. He stepped towards Dean. "There have been several children over the past fifteen years that have gone missing, a lot like you."

"What are you saying?" asked Dean.

"We fear you may not have been the only child Carl kidnapped," said Palkins.

"But why do you suspect that it was Carl who took them?" asked Sam.

"At the time they disappeared, they were all seven years old," explained Smetzer. "Based on Dean's story, we believe it was Carl that took them."

"Okay…" said Dean, wondering why they were telling him this.

"We were wondering if you saw anything while you were being kept at that house," said Smetzer. "Anything that might have hinted where the other children were being kept. We believe they may be held in other abandoned houses, and Paul took over their…'care' after Carl died."

Dean suddenly realized they were right.

"_I was a little preoccupied," said Paul, turning towards Dean. "Had kids to take care of."_

_Dean's eyes widened in disbelief. "Kids? __**You**__ had kids?" He shuddered. "I'd hate to be __**your**__ kid. God, what a way to grow up."_

"_Not mine," Paul told him. "Carl's. You left them without someone to take care of them."_

_Dean frowned, trying to figure everything out. If Carl had other kids, why would he try so hard to replace one? Unless his son was his favorite. Maybe that's why Carl never stayed where Dean was; he had family to take care of._

Oh, he had family to take care of, alright. But it wasn't his own family. And that was why Carl took other kids. It wasn't that his son was his favorite…His son was his only child. And each child he took couldn't compare, so he would just take another one. But that kid wouldn't match up either, so he would just take another one.

"Did you notice anything?" asked Palkins.

"Uh…" Dean thought long and hard for a moment, but nothing seemed to jump out at him. "No, nothing."

"You're sure?" asked Smetzer.

Dean nodded slowly. "Sorry."

Palkins pulled a card out of his pocket. "Well, if you remember anything, give us a call." He set the card on the table.

"Yeah, sure," said Dean. "Have a nice day," said Smetzer as he and Palkins left.

"Dean," said John after a moment. "I hate to ask this, but…were you telling the truth?"

Dean frowned. "What? You think I would lie?"

"No, not lie, per say," John amended quickly. "More like…avoid truths. You…you didn't tell **us** the truth at first."

"I wouldn't put other people's lives in danger," said Dean. "I didn't tell you at first because nothing was at stake except my own well-being. I wouldn't 'avoid the truth' when these kids are missing."

"Sorry, Dean, but I had to ask," said John.

Dean nodded, calming down. "No, I understand. It's okay."

They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Dr. Lowsen walked in.

"I heard you wanted to talk to me?" asked Dr. Lowsen.

"Yeah," said Dean. "I, uh, was wondering if I could go home."

Sam and John both looked at him in shock.

"You want to go home?" asked Dr. Lowsen.

"Yeah, I just don't want to be here anymore," said Dean. "It's all…clean…"

Dr. Lowsen chuckled a little, but John and Sam understood. Dean didn't like being cooped up in a place full of strangers in a vulnerable position. He wanted to recuperate in a familiar place with his family.

"Can't find enough nurses to hit on?" asked Sam, giving Dean the easy way out.

Dean chuckled. "Exactly. I'm not gonna stay in a hospital that only has, like, three nurses."

John, Sam and the doctor laughed.

"You're sure?" the doctor tried one last time. "You'd be more comfortable here."

"No, I'm sure," said Dean.

Dr. Lowsen nodded. "Okay. Well, try to keep the pressure off of your left arm and right side. I'll write you a prescription for Vicodin to replace the morphine. Be careful; Vicodin can be potent if you don't follow the dosage instructions. You can fill that prescription downstairs any time today. Get plenty of rest and fluids. I'll need to see you again in two weeks—just before the Christmas holidays—for the follow-up exam. Now, if _anything _changes—anything at all—you call me right away. Got it?"

Dean nodded. "Definitely."

"Alright, you'll be released sometime this afternoon," said Dr. Lowsen. "I'll go prepare the paperwork with the nurses. Have a nice day, and I'll see you soon."

"Thanks, Doc," said Dean. "For everything. I appreciate it."

"It's my job," smiled Dr. Lowsen.

Dean was released around three, and they drove him home. Dean settled back into the house, heading to take a nap. The Winchesters spent the rest of the afternoon relaxing.

********************************************SPN*******************************************************

"_No," Dean mumbled as he stood frozen by the window._

_Carl marched over and ripped the saw out of his hands. He raised a fist and slammed it across Dean's face. Dean fell to the floor._

"_What the hell were you thinking?" Carl yelled, looming over him._

_Dean crawled across the floor, trying to get away. "I'm sorry!"_

"_You're sorry?" Carl yelled, following Dean across the room. "You're sorry you tried to get away from me?"_

"_Yes!" Dean cried, scared of what he might do to him._

"_How __**dare**__ you try to run away from your own father!" Carl yelled, bringing a leg back and kicking Dean in the gut._

"_Ah!" Dean cried out, clutching at his stomach in pain._

"_You must be disciplined…__**son**__," Carl growled._

_Dean's eyes widened. "No…"_

_Carl reached down and grabbed Dean's small arm, dragging him across the floor towards the living room._

"_No!" Dean cried, tears falling down his face. "I'll be good! Please!"_

_Carl threw Dean down, and Dean scrabbled across the floor, trying to get away from him. Carl brought a foot down on Dean's hand, breaking one of his fingers._

"_AH!" Dean screamed._

"_Get up!" Carl yelled, removing his foot._

_Dean cradled his hand close, crying. Carl aimed a kick across Dean's face, drawing blood. Dean lay on his side, blood and tears falling down his face to the floor._

_Carl glared at him for a good, long moment. "Clean that carpet when you're done sniveling, you little baby."_

_He marched towards the front door, taking the saw and Dean's hope along with him. Dean lay on the floor for the rest of the night, staring blindly at the wall. He had no possible escape, no way to get free. He was trapped there…forever…_

…_forever…_

…_forever…_

…_FOREVER!_

"No!" Dean screamed as he jerked up in bed.

"Dean, it's okay!" said John. "You're safe!"

Dean saw his father on one side of the bed and his brother on the other. He'd had a nightmare, which had awoken John and Sam. He stared in the direction of the closet, taking deep breaths.

"You okay?" asked Sam.

Dean paid no attention. His mind was on that night when his hope of escape had vanished. Who knew how many kids were feeling that exact same way…not knowing if they would ever see their families again. If only Dean knew something that could help find them…

And, suddenly, he did. He could suddenly remember something that he'd only glimpsed once…

Sam and John watched in shock as Dean suddenly bolted from the bed, grabbing a pair of shoes from the floor.

"Wha—Dean!" John shouted as Dean tore down the hall.

He shared a confused look with Sam before they both rushed after Dean. As they reached the front door, the Impala's engine revved, and it tore out of the driveway.

"Grab the keys!" John yelled as he tore over to the Taurus.

Sam grabbed his keys off the table by the door and quickly locked the house. He rushed to the Taurus, and they got in, racing after Dean.

"What is he doing?" asked John.

"You don't think he's running, do you?" asked Sam. He could barely keep the Impala in his sights, Dean was speeding so fast.

"I hope not," said John. "Just follow him."

Sam hit the gas harder, desperate to catch up to his panicked, fleeing brother.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

**Sorry for the delay! I just started a job at Six Flags, and it's hard to write after working in that heat all day long. But I have weekends off! Here's the newest chapter!**

**I wanted to play on that whole, Dean not being around and changing history thing, one last time.**

An hour later, Sam watched the Impala park in front of an old, seemingly abandoned house. Sam parked the Taurus in time to see Dean ignore the foreclosure notice and kick in the house's front door.

Sam and John jumped out of the car, racing up to the door and into the house. They froze, staring at the place. Bars lined every window, and blood stained small patches of the carpet in several places. The place looked completely neglected.

Dean stood at a desk in the living room, kicking at one of the cabinet doors that had a lock on it.

"Dean?" asked John, slowly approaching him. "What are you doing?"

Dean suddenly stopped, looking around on the floor for something. Spotting it, he headed over to the dining room, picking up a crowbar. Dean held it up, staring at it in what looked like fear. John and Sam both noticed that it was stained with blood.

"Dean?" tried Sam, also stepping closer.

Dean marched past them and back to the desk, swinging the crowbar at the lock.

"Dean, please," pleaded John. "Stop for a minute."

Sam noticed something on the floor of the dining room. "Dad."

John followed Sam's gaze to the floor. A big puddle of blood stained the hardwood under an outlined body form—those tapelines cops put down around a murder victim.

Sam took a second look around the place. "Oh, God…You don't think this is where Dean…"

John didn't answer, having come to that conclusion himself.

A loud clang brought their attention back to Dean. He had finally broken the lock, and he threw the crowbar down. He ripped open the cabinet door and began throwing the contents out into the living room.

Sam and John let him work, trying to figure out why Dean would suddenly want to come back here, of all places.

When the cabinet was empty, Dean brought his fist down on the bottom of it, breaking the wood. There was a hidden cubby hole underneath it. Dean brushed the wood pieces out and grabbed what he had been looking for. He put it on top of the desk, unfolding it. John and Sam stepped closer, standing next to Dean to have a look. It was a map of the area—about a fifteen-mile radius. There were circles in six places randomly on the map, including the house they were currently in. Next to the circles, addresses were written.

Dean huffed out a breath, shaking his head. "That's it…"

"Dean, what's this all about?" asked Sam.

"Follow me," said Dean, grabbing the map and heading for the front door.

They followed Dean out of the house.

"You ride with Dean," John told Sam.

"Okay," said Sam, tossing the keys to John and opening the Impala's passenger door.

Just as he was about to climb in, he looked over the roof at the driver's side. Dean stood at the open driver's door, staring at the house. Sam stopped, glancing over at John, who was getting back out of the Taurus and staring worriedly at Dean.

"Dean?" asked Sam.

Dean didn't respond. He just continued to stare at his childhood torture chamber.

"Dean…" Sam prompted.

Dean turned and looked at Sam, his eyes soberly pensive. He looked like a man who'd had to revisit his childhood nightmare.

_No, shit,_ thought Sam.

"You okay?" asked Sam.

"Get in the car," said Dean suddenly.

He and Sam got in, speeding off down the street.

"Where are we going?" asked Sam carefully. He felt very certain now that Dean wasn't running, but he wasn't too sure that his brother hadn't finally cracked.

"There," Dean said simply, tapping the map on the seat in between them.

Sam picked the map up, looking at it. "We're heading to these addresses?"

"Just one," said Dean. "It's closest." He glanced at Sam real quick and then back at the road. "I think the missing kids are there."

Sam's eyes widened as he quickly counted the addresses. "There's five other houses on here."

"Yeah," said Dean. "I saw it once, like, ten years ago. I hid in the hallway. I just remembered it; figured it would be a good place to start."

"What makes you think they'll still be there?" asked Sam. "That they'd be alive?"

"When Paul had me tied up, he mentioned something about taking care of Carl's kids."

Sam nodded. "That's good enough for me."

"Which way?" asked Dean.

Sam consulted the map, quickly committing it to memory. He glanced up at the road, waiting for the next street sign. When they came upon it, Sam read the street name.

"Take the third right," Sam told him.

After three streets, Dean peeled onto the street. Their father was right behind them.

"One mile," Sam told Dean.

It took them only a minute, they were going so fast. Dean threw the car into park, barreling out the driver's door. John was right behind him with Sam bringing up the rear. Dean put his shoulder into the door, but it wouldn't budge. He tried again, but got the same results.

"Damn it!" Dean yelled. "Anybody bring a lock pick?"

"No," said John. "What are we here for?"

"Here," said Sam, grabbing a rock from beside the porch. He threw it at a front window, shattering it.

"Whoa, what are you doing?" John yelled in alarm.

The rock hit bars and toppled back out.

Dean stared in horror at the barred window. "Oh, my God…I was right…"

"How we gonna get in?" asked Sam.

Dean went back to the door, face determined. He raised his leg and kicked the door right next to the door knob. The door jamb splintered, and the door flew open. Dean raced inside.

"Hurry," Sam told John, entering the house. John followed him.

Dean stood in the living room, looking around. There were blood stains on the floor—just like at Carl's place.

"Hey!" Dean yelled. "Where are you?"

There was no response.

"It's not Paul, I swear!" Dean called. "Where are you?"

There was a moment's pause.

"Here!" called a small voice from the hallway on their right. "I'm here!"

Dean rushed down the hallway, coming to a stop at the first door. He banged on the door. "You in here?"

"Help me!" came the voice from behind the door.

Dean raised his leg and kicked the door in. Inside, a small boy about nine or ten years old was handcuffed to the bedrail, sitting on the floor. He was wearing tattered jeans, no shoes, and a white-turned-gray t-shirt.

Dean rushed forward, and none of them missed how the kid flinched away from Dean.

"It's okay," said Dean. "I'm not gonna hurt you. What's your name?"

"D-David," the kid answered, tears falling down his face.

"Hey, I'm Dean," he said. He gestured over his shoulder to the other two. "That's my brother Sam and our father John. Everything's gonna be okay now."

"How do you know?" the kid asked.

"Because Carl and Paul took me, too," said Dean. "But I got back to my family, and so will you."

John and Sam watched Dean with the kid, amazed at how he was able to comfort him by drawing on his own experience.

"Alright, we're gonna get those cuffs off," said Dean. He looked up at Sam and John. "Tell me we have something in the Impala for these."

"I'll go check," said John.

Dean tossed the keys to John, and John left the room.

"Alright, you're gonna be just fine," Dean told David. He looked up at Sam. "Go get the map and call Smetzer."

"Yeah," Sam nodded, leaving the room.

Dean looked down at David, who had curled into his arms. "It's gonna be okay. We'll have you back to your family before you know it."

Dean wrapped his arms around the kid, comforting him as much as he could. After all the beatings and the vulnerability and Carl's murder, Dean felt he needed to do something right…his penance. And he'd found his redemption in this little boy.

*****************************************************SPN*********************************************************

Sam rushed back into the house behind John. He stayed in the living room to call Smetzer with the addresses as John headed to the bedroom with a machete. He found Dean hugging David tight to him. David's eyes widened in shock as he spotted the machete.

"Alright," said John, looking down at the handcuffs. He held the machete out to Dean. "You better do it. You have amazing aim."

Dean nodded and grabbed the machete. He looked from the machete down to David's trembling hands. He then looked over at the bed grill David was handcuffed to.

_Thank God it's wood,_ Dean thought.

"Alright, new plan," said Dean. He turned to David. "You're gonna slide the cuffs to the bottom of the post, and you're gonna crawl under the bed as far as you can."

David nodded.

"And I'm gonna break the wooden posts," Dean finished.

David nodded again and climbed under the end of the bed. His handcuffs caught at the bottom of the bed grill. He pulled tight on his cuffs, trying to get as far under the bed as he could.

"Ready?" asked Dean.

"Yeah," said David.

"Alright, whatever you do, don't move," Dean told him.

Dean raised the machete and swung it sideways at the bed posts just above the mattress. It took three good swings before Dean was through the wood.

"Alright, David, you can come out," Dean told him.

David scooted out from under the bed, and Dean helped him slide the cuffs off the wood. Dean picked him up, David throwing his cuffed hands over Dean's head so he could cling to him, and he turned toward the door.

"Come on," said Dean. "Let's get him to the hospital."

They met Sam in the living room, who was hanging up.

"You're driving," Dean told Sam. There was no way he was letting David go.

John tossed the keys to Sam, and they made their way out the door. John headed for the Taurus while Sam and Dean piled into the Impala. Sam speeded towards the hospital while Dean held David in the passenger seat. David clung to Dean, too afraid something would happen if he let go.

It took an hour back the way they came to get to the hospital. Dean headed inside with David, stopping at the front desk.

"I just found this kid in a house," Dean told the nurse that was on night shift. "He was kidnapped. Can you take a look at him?"

"Yes, of course," said the nurse.

She led them to an exam room in the ICU. David reluctantly let go of Dean as Dean put him down on the bed.

"Everything's gonna be okay now," Dean told him. "They're gonna take care of you."

David nodded a little, curling into the bed. Sam, Dean and a nurse walked into the hallway.

"Thank you so much," said the nurse. "We'll take it from here. You can wait in the waiting area. We'll tell you when we have information."

Dean nodded as the nurse went into the exam room.

"Wow," breathed Sam. "All that after you just got out of the hospital? You must be tired."

Dean suddenly collapsed next to him.

"Whoa!" Sam exclaimed, grabbing him before he hit the floor.

Dean looked like death warmed over.

"Sammy…" Dean muttered, glancing up dazedly at Sam. "I'm tired…"

Sam chuckled. "I'll bet. Come on, let's get you into a chair."

Sam helped Dean stumble back to the waiting room, where John was waiting for them.

John frowned at Dean's state. "What happened?"

"His adrenaline just ran out," Sam told him.

They got him to a chair, and Dean collapsed down into it, wincing as he grabbed his ribs.

"You okay?" asked Sam.

"Yeah…" Dean told him. "I'll be fine."

Sam's cell phone rang, and he pulled it out of his pocket. "Yeah?" He listened for a moment. "Okay. Yeah, thanks for calling. I'll tell him."

Sam hung up and looked at the two of them. "That was Smetzer. They found a kid in each of those houses. All different ages. They're bringing them here right now. They were thinking that…well, with you…you know…"

"He wants me to talk to them?" asked Dean, frowning. "Why?"

"Well, he thinks that if they hear how you made it back to us and your life is going pretty good, it'll make them feel better," Sam explained. "Give them something to hope for."

Dean shrugged. "Uh…sure, okay…"

"You don't have to," Sam added quickly. "It's not—"

"No, it's okay," said Dean. "I want to. When will they be here?"

"Uh, about fifteen minutes," said Sam.

**********************************SPN******************************************

An hour later, Smetzer approached the Winchesters in the waiting area after getting the kids situated in their own rooms.

"Where did you find that map?" asked Smetzer.

"It was this false bottom in the living room desk," said Dean. "I kind of had a dream—a flashback—and then suddenly I remembered seeing Carl putting it away in the desk. I thought it was worth checking out."

"Well, thank God you did check it out," said Smetzer. "They hadn't eaten in almost a week."

"Really?" asked Dean, wincing. "How they doing, by the way?"

"Well, it seems as though Carl took a kid every three years," said Smetzer. "Based on your story, he became disappointed in the current kid he took and decided to take another to replace his son…see if that one was a better match. Matt Santen was taken in 1987, you were taken in 1990, then we have Tucker Franklin in 1993, Jesse Matthews in 1996, Kevin Pennins in 1999 and David Holland in 2002. Each of them was seven years old when they were kidnapped—except you, of course."

"Did they all…" began Dean, not knowing how to finish his question. "Were they all treated like me, too?"

"It appears as though they had all been beaten, but the boy you found—David—he was taken just before Carl died, so he was never sexually abused. Paul, of course, did not rape the kids. That was more of his brother's MO. Fortunately, David did not have to sustain as much abuse.

"Thank God," said Dean.

Smetzer nodded. "Their families have been notified, and they are on their way. Did Sam talk to you about—"

"Talking with them?" finished Dean. "Yeah, I can do that."

"Thank you," said Smetzer. "I know it would help them, at least a little."

"Are they, uh…" began Dean. "Do I go talk to them now, or…"

"Well, I'm about to have them all in a group room in a couple of minutes," Smetzer told him. "You can go in and talk to them then."

"Okay, thanks," said Dean.

Smetzer walked away, heading for the front desk to finish up some paperwork.

Dean looked over at his brother and father. "You guys wait here while I talk to them, okay?"

Sam and John nodded, heading to their seats. Dean walked over to Smetzer, who handed his papers back to the nurse.

"Ready?" asked Smetzer.

"As I'll ever be," said Dean.

"Okay, this way," said Smetzer.

He led Dean down the hall and through a doorway. Dean entered, looking around the room. Five kids in wheelchairs sat scattered around the room. Matt was a year younger than Dean, and he looked mistrustfully up at Dean. Tucker was nineteen, Jesse was sixteen, Kevin was thirteen, and David was ten.

"Hey, guys," said Smetzer gently. "This is Dean Winchester. He's gonna talk to you guys, okay?"

Dean smiled awkwardly at the others boys as Smetzer let them be. "Hey…"

Matt stared at him. "Who are you?"

"Well, I, uh…I'm one of you guys," said Dean, grabbing a chair and sitting down. "Carl took me when I was a kid, too. I was kidnapped in 1990 when I was eleven."

Matt frowned. "But you're older than me."

"Actually, Carl came for my little brother," Dean explained. "Sammy was seven. I tried to stop him, so he took me instead."

"But…you aren't in the hospital like us," said Tucker. "You weren't found tonight."

Dean shook his head. "No. I got away from Carl three years ago."

"That was when Paul said Carl died," said Kevin.

Dean nodded. "Yeah…I got into a fight with him, and…I killed him."

"You did?" asked Matt.

"Yeah," said Dean. "I didn't mean to; it just kind of happened. So I ran. I didn't run far, but I did. A month ago, my family finally found me. They've been helping me get over everything. And pretty soon, your families will be here, also."

"But how are we—" began Jesse, tears were beginning to fill his eyes. "How are we supposed to just put this behind us?"

"You aren't," Dean told him. "I'm not gonna lie to you. It'll be hard. It'll be rough. There will be times when you just want to run away and never come back. You'll want to just get away from this life and never look back. But it gets better. If you hang in there and allow your family and yourself to heal from this…it gets better. I promise."

"But they'll want to know everything," said Tucker.

"You don't have to tell them," said Dean. They all looked at him disbelievingly. "Well, don't get me wrong. You should tell them…eventually. But you don't have to until you're ready. I mean, I didn't tell my family right away. But, trust me…when you're ready to tell someone…you'll know."

"But what if they look at me differently?" asked Kevin.

"They won't," came a voice behind Dean.

Dean turned to look at the newcomer. John stood in the doorway with Sam. Dean stood, staring at them.

"They won't look at you differently," John continued, walking into the room. "They'll love you more for it." He looked at Dean with a smile. "Just the mere fact that you're still alive…still yourselves…after everything you went through…" he put a hand on Dean's shoulder, "they'll admire you for it."

Dean smiled at his father as John pulled him into a hug. Sam walked up next to them as they pulled apart.

"Don't worry about them not feeling the same way about you," Sam told them. "Trust me…" he looked at Dean with a smile, "I've never loved my brother more."

Dean shook his head, smiling at Sam. "You sentimental freak…"

Sam laughed. "Oh, come on, you know you love it."

Sam pulled Dean into a hug. They broke apart, and Dean looked at the others. They were looking at the Winchesters with newfound hope. There was a knock on the door, and they looked back to see Smetzer at the door.

"Hey, guys," said Smetzer. "I have some visitors for you."

He stepped aside, and people began entering the door. Couples headed for each boy, wrapping them in hugs. All the boys except David tensed when their families hugged them. They exclaimed over their long-lost sons, overjoyed to be reunited with them. John, Sam and Dean watched, knowing all too clearly what they were all going through.

"How did you find them?" Tucker's mother asked Smetzer.

"Actually, you have this young man to thank," Smetzer told them, pointing out Dean. "He was also kidnapped as a kid, and he found the map that led us to the other houses."

David's mother walked up to Dean, wrapping him in a hug. "Thank you so much."

Dean accepted the hug, a little uncomfortable with the whole thing. "I didn't really do much."

David's mother pulled back, looking at him with tears in her eyes. "You gave me my son back."

One by one, each of the mothers hugged him, and the fathers shook his hand. They all gave him their thanks for finding their sons. Finally, the Winchesters made their way out of the hospital and back towards home.

"Dean, was that really true?" asked Sam once they had gotten back into their house. "Did you really not move far from Carl's house the past three years?" Dean smiled at him slyly. "Yeah, we were listening. Bitch about it later."

"Yeah," said Dean. "I never really went further than thirty miles from that house." He frowned, shaking his head. "I'm not really sure why I didn't really leave. It was…it was my home for twelve years. Wasn't much of a home, but still…" Dean looked up at them. "It was the only place I knew…the only steady place I had in my whole life. I just couldn't leave."

John nodded, accepting that. When you get used to a place after twelve years…it gets hard to leave…no matter what hell had happened there…

The next few days, Dean continued to heal as Sam and John helped him. John went back to work, having taken off while Dean was in the hospital. Sam never took off work, because the whole incident with Paul happened during the week. He did, however, have plans to discuss with John.

"Hey, Dad," Sam said one morning while Dean was still in the shower. "I've been thinking."

"About what?" asked John.

"About Christmas," said Sam. "I think we should do something."

"Something?" asked John.

"Yeah…for Dean," explained Sam.

"What did you have in mind?" asked John.

Sam smiled as he explained his ideas for the holiday. He and John began making plans and getting ready. Sam, meanwhile, began feeling less and less like himself. He wasn't sure what was happening to him, but he could feel it draining his body of energy. He began losing his appetite, he began getting headaches, he was tired all the time…And it just got worse over the next two days.

Dean walked downstairs Friday morning after his shower. Sam was at the table, finishing his breakfast.

_Not that he'd eaten much,_ Dean noted.

"How you feeling?" asked Dean.

"Better," said Sam. "I think."

"You think?" asked Dean skeptically as he walked to the fridge for breakfast.

"Yeah, I don't feel as tired as I did yesterday," said Sam. "Probably stress from the last week."

"Let's hope so," said Dean, fixing himself a bowl of cereal. "So…you up to training today, or…"

"Yeah," said Sam. "I think I'm ready. I'll get ready while you're eating."

"Okay," said Dean.

Sam stood with his bowl as Dean headed for the table with his. There was a clatter of the bowl and spoon falling to the floor, and Dean spun to see Sam standing in front of the counter, staring at the wall.

"Sam, you okay?" asked Dean.

Sam turned halfway towards Dean, his eyes unfocused. "I don't know…I'm not sure what…"

Sam's eyes rolled up into his head, and he dropped to the floor.

"SAMMY!" Dean yelled, rushing over towards Sam.

Sam was unconscious, breathing rapidly. Dean shook him.

"SAM!" Dean yelled again, but got no response. "No, Sammy, wake up!"

Dean shook him again. "SAMMY!"


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

**STOP! I published two chapters in one day again. If you haven't read chapter Fifteen, do not read this yet! GO BACK!**

**Wow, I can't believe I finished this chapter the same day. Enjoy!**

John put down the wrench as his cell phone rang. He wiped his hand off on a rag, reaching into his pocket for his phone.

He checked the caller ID and put the phone to his ear. "What is it, Dean?"

"Dad," came Dean's hyperventilating voice. "I'm sorry. It's—It's Sam."

John's eyes widened, instantly tense. He flashed back to fifteen years ago when Sam had given him a similar call.

"What is it, Dean?" asked John, worried beyond anything. "What's going on?"

"Sam, he—he just collapsed," Dean told him, beginning to panic. "He won't wake up, and he's burning up. I mean, he's been feeling off for a couple days. I don't know what—"

"Dean, calm down," John told his son. "Take a couple breaths." He waited for Dean to breath a couple times. "Grab Sam's keys and take him to the hospital. You can do this. Stay calm for your brother."

"Yeah," said Dean breathlessly. "Okay. Yeah."

"I will be there as soon as I can," John told him. "Look after your brother, you hear me?"

"Yes, sir," said Dean, hanging up.

John grabbed his jacket, running out of the garage towards the Impala.

"Winchester, where are you going?" asked his boss Nathan.

"My son's at the hospital," John called as he still rushed to the Impala. "Gotta run, sorry!"

He jumped into the car, tearing out of the parking lot towards the hospital.

********************************************SPN***********************************************************

Dean grabbed Sam under his arms, trying to gently drag him out to the Taurus. He got down the steps and to the car just fine, setting Sam down so he leaned against the car. Dean unlocked the Taurus and pulled Sam into the back seat. He rushed to the driver's side and jumped in, tearing down the road towards the hospital.

Dean pulled up and pulled Sam out of the car. He was able to pull Sam into his arms, much to the displeasure of his newly healed wrist. He groaned as he carried his younger brother into the ER.

"I need help!" Dean called. "Someone!"

"Here!" called a nurse, pulling a wheelchair over to Dean. Dean put his brother down into the wheelchair, and the nurse began pushing the chair towards a room. Dean followed right next to her. "What happened?"

"I'm not sure," Dean told her. "He'd been feeling a little sick, I guess, for the past two days, and this morning, he just collapsed. I couldn't wake him. He's burning up. He hasn't been eating much, he has headaches…"

"Alright, please wait in the waiting area," the nurse told him.

"But he's my brother, I can't—" began Dean.

"Please, sir," said the nurse. "The best thing you can do for him is to wait and let us take care of him."

Dean stared at Sam for a moment before reluctantly nodding. "Yeah. Right. Okay."

"Thank you," said the nurse, taking Sam and heading into the room.

Dean dazedly headed back to the waiting area, sitting down overwhelmed with grief. If only he'd paid attention over the past few days. He could've stopped this before it happened…Where did he go wrong?

************************************************SPN*****************************************************************

John rushed into the ER, looking around for his eldest. He found Dean sitting in the waiting room, staring straight ahead with a clipboard of admission papers held loosely in his hand.

"Dean?" asked John.

Dean looked up at his father, his eyes full of so much pain. "What did I do wrong?"

John frowned, sitting down next to Dean. "What?"

"What did I do wrong?" asked Dean again. "If I had done everything right, Sammy wouldn't be sick."

"No, Dean," said John. "This is not your fault. You did everything right. Sam is going to be just fine. You'll see."

"How can you be so sure?" asked Dean, looking over at him.

"He's a Winchester," John smiled. "He's strong."

Dean smiled as John took the paperwork from him and began filling it out.

Half an hour later, Dr. Lowsen walked over to the waiting area.

"Winchester?" he asked.

John and Dean stood and walked over to him.

"How's Sam?" asked Dean. "What's wrong with him?"

"Well, we weren't sure what was happening until we ran a blood test," said the doctor. "It seems your brother has come down with something adults rarely get. It happens, but not very often."

Dean wanted to wring the doctor's neck if he didn't tell them what was going on in the next two seconds.

"It's chicken pox," said Dr. Lowsen.

Dean stared at him. "What?"

"Chicken pox," said Dr. Lowsen. "It appears your brother never contracted it when he was younger."

"Wait a minute," said Dean. "You're saying Sam collapsed…because he had the chicken pox?"

"Yes," Dr. Lowsen told them. "It's perfectly minor in children, but when an adult contracts it, it becomes much more serious. They become very sick and show much more pronounced symptoms than a child. There are chances of major side effects, but your brother is a very healthy individual. He'll pull through in a few days. The pox will fade in about a week."

"Chicken pox?" Dean asked again in disbelief.

"Yes, chicken pox," the doctor laughed.

Dean breathed out a sigh of relief. "Thank God." He chuckled. "And here I thought he was dying or something."

"You're welcome to go see him," said Dr. Lowsen. "Only if you've already had the pox."

"Yeah," answered John. "I had it when I was five. I'm not sure about Dean, obviously."

"I had it when I was fourteen," said Dean. "It was a little rough, 'cause I was older than usual for getting it, but I've had it." He looked at John. "Carl probably transmitted it from one of the other kids."

"Yeah," John nodded.

"He's in room 253," Dr. Lowsen told them.

They hurried down the hall to find a drugged-up Sam lying in his hospital bed.

"Hey, Sammy," said John. "How you feel?"

"Like…a million…dollars…" muttered Sam in a dazed voice.

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, you look it."

"What's…wrong with me?" asked Sam, looking at his father.

"Chicken pox," John told him. Sam frowned at him. "Yeah, chicken pox. You're gonna be just fine. You'll still feel sick for a couple days, but you'll be fine in no time."

Sam smiled a little. "Well…that's…awesome…"

Dean laughed a little. "You rest now, okay?"

Sam nodded, looking over at Dean. "You…too…"

Dean held up his wrapped left hand. "Yeah, your fat ass almost re-dislocated my wrist."

Sam chuckled a little, his eyes sliding closed. "Jerk…"

Dean smiled, ruffling Sam's hair as the kid fell asleep. "Bitch."

In two days' time, Sam was feeling good enough to be sent home. His skin was covered with little red spots, but he felt better now. Dean helped him into the Impala at the hospital entrance.

"I know I'll be glad not to see this place for a long time," said Dean.

"Yeah," laughed Sam. "It's been too many visits in the last week alone."

John pushed the wheelchair back into the hospital lobby and got into the driver's seat as Dean climbed in behind Sam. As they were driving home, Dean asked Sam the one thing he'd been wanting to since he got to the hospital.

"How is it that you never had the chicken pox?" asked Dean. "Every kid gets the chicken pox."

Sam shrugged. "Just lucky like that, I guess. There was this one chicken pox scare at a school I went to for about half a year. I was a freshman, and there was one senior who got the chicken pox from his little brother. He then passed it to the other seniors—the ones who hadn't gotten the chicken pox yet—who then passed it to most of the school. They shut school down for a week so no one else would get exposed."

Sam stopped, thinking for a moment. "Huh. I guess if you had been there, you would've been in that senior class. I would've gotten it from you, and we wouldn't have had this problem." He chuckled, shaking his head. "It's funny how life works out, huh?"

Dean chuckled also. "Yeah. Funny." He looked over at his brother. "Hey, promise me something."

"What?" asked Sam.

"Promise you won't scare me like that again?" said Dean. "Next time you feel like you're gonna pass out or something, drive yourself to the hospital and do it, okay?"

Sam laughed. "Yeah, sure thing. I'll just be sure to get a little vision about it and take any pre-emptive measures needed."

Dean laughed, shaking his head at Sam while ruffling his hair. "Bitch."

"Jerk," said Sam, shoving Dean's hand away.

John smiled as his boys bickered in the backseat. _It's just like old times around here._

Over the next three or four days, Sam's pox faded and eventually disappeared. He was cleared to go back to work, and Dean returned once more to the hospital for his follow-up appointment. He was cleared on his wrist and ribs—it seemed they were healing up just fine.

Sam, Dean and John were hanging out Friday night, watching TV. All of them were really starting to get into the holiday season, and Sam and John were looking forward to their days off in about ten days. They were watching "The Santa Clause." It was something they wouldn't normally watch, especially Dean, but—hey—it was Christmas.

They all chuckled at the scene they were currently watching.

"Yeah, that's believable," muttered Dean. "It's like—"

Sam winced as a stab of pain filtered through his head. He put a hand to his forehead, rubbing it back and forth.

"—you know?" finished Dean.

"What?" Sam asked.

Dean looked at him. "What?"

"What did you say?" asked Sam.

"Got a little too wrapped up in the movie, huh?" laughed Dean.

Sam chuckled a little. "Yeah."

Dean looked at their father. "Well, Sammy always wanted a reason to believe in Santa Clause."

Sam rolled his eyes, laughing a little, until the pain returned to his head. He groaned as his hand flew to his head again.

"Sammy, you okay?" asked Dean in concern.

"Yeah, just a headache," said Sam.

"You sure?" asked John.

"Yeah," said Sam. The pain faded, and he lowered his hand. "See? Already gone."

The pain came back with a vengeance, and Sam clutched his head in pain.

"Sam?" asked Dean.

"Yeah—my head!" Sam exclaimed as the pain spiked.

"Sam!" John yelled.

Sam barely felt the hands on his arms as the pain whited out his vision and replaced it with a different one.

_He was chained to a wall in a dirty, abandoned warehouse. John was chained next to him, and Dean was chained to the floor in the middle of the room, unconscious._

_Paul walked towards Sam and John, raising a crowbar. "You think this is a game?"_

"_Just let us go," said Sam._

"_Oh, I don't think so," said Paul. "You guys have made my life a living hell."_

"_You did that good enough on your own," said John._

"_Your son killed my brother," said Paul. "Then he goes and takes my life as well…sticking me in that prison. And that bullet you shot me with—that hurt."_

"_You deserved it," Sam spat at him._

"_Really?" said Paul. He walked over to Dean, standing over him with the crowbar raised. "And your brother? He murdered someone…doesn't he deserve it?"_

"_If Dean hadn't killed him, one of the other kids would have eventually," said John. "Don't blame him because your brother was a twisted dick."_

_Paul smiled sadistically. "Well…to each his own…" He looked down at Dean, gripping the crowbar tighter. "And we're about to find out what Dean's path in life has brought you…nothing but death…"_

_John and Sam stared in horror._

"_I'm going to kill you all…" said Paul, smiling wickedly._

Sam groaned in pain as his vision whited out again, bringing him back to the living room where Dean and John knelt in front of him, faces deeply concerned.

"It's Paul!" Sam told them. "He's escaped!"


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

**Oh, wow…Almost done with this story. I don't believe it. Enjoy this chapter! Don't worry, it's the end of the Winchester bashing.**

"Sam, what are you talking about?" asked John. "What just happened?"

"I think I just had a vision," Sam told them.

"Are you sure it was a vision?" asked Dean.

"Sure as hell felt like those dreams about Dean," Sam said, rubbing away the after-ache.

"But you were awake," said John.

"I don't know," Sam told them. "Maybe they get stronger over time."

Dean waved away the unimportant topic. "What did you see?"

"Paul," said Sam. "We were chained up in some abandoned building. He was gonna kill us."

John looked uncertainly at Dean and back to Sam. "But Paul's in prison. Are you sure you weren't…daydreaming?"

But even John knew it wasn't some flimsy daydream.

"It felt real," said Sam. "Like when I dreamed Paul had Dean."

"Well, do you know when it's gonna happen?" asked Dean.

The phone rang in the kitchen, and they all stared in its direction for a moment. John finally got up and answered it.

"Hello?" they heard John answer. "Yeah…What?"

Sam and Dean looked at each other in concern. That last word of John's had sounded alarmed.

"Thank you," said John. The phone clicked as he hung up.

Sam and Dean looked up at the kitchen to see John emerging from it. His face had lost all color, and he was staring at his boys in fear.

"That was Agent Smetzer," John told them. He looked at Sam. "Paul escaped."

Sam looked at Dean before jumping up, grabbing his jacket. John was also grabbing his jacket and a pistol, that he put into an inside pocket on his jacket. Sam turned to see Dean still sitting on the couch, staring off into space.

"Dean," Sam prompted. Dean didn't move. "Dean, we gotta go."

Dean looked up at him, his eyes full of apprehension and a little fear.

Sam walked over to him. "Dean, come on. We-we can't stay here." He held his hand out to Dean.

Dean looked down at Sam's hand for a moment before taking it, and Sam pulled him to his feet. John handed Dean a jacket and rushed out towards the Impala. He didn't make it three steps out the front door before a crowbar collided with his head. John hit the ground hard, unconscious. Paul stepped into view, glaring at Sam and Dean.

"Run!" Sam told Dean.

They rushed upstairs and towards one of the back rooms. Sam shoved Dean into the closet.

"Hide!" Sam hissed at him.

"What are you, crazy?" said Dean. "I'm not leaving you alone with him."

"It's you he wants!" Sam lied. After all, he'd never told them exactly what the vision was. "Hide and I'll fight him off!"

"No way!" said Dean, heading back out of the closet.

Sam shoved him inside, closing the door and locking it. Dean pounded on the door.

"Sam, no, dammit!" Dean yelled, his voice muffled through the door.

He pounded for another moment before falling silent. Even wanting to get to Sam, he knew he shouldn't make much noise so Paul could find him.

Sam moved to the room doorway, hiding behind the door. He waited until Paul stepped into the room before pouncing on him, grabbing for the crowbar. Paul flung him into the wall, swinging the crowbar. Sam grabbed the crowbar, wrestling it out of Paul's hands. He hit Paul in the leg with it, and Paul hit the floor. Paul brought a knee forward, hitting Sam in the gut. Sam wouldn't let go of the crowbar, though. But he was winded. As he tried to catch his breath, Paul shoved an elbow hard into his face, and his head hit the wall, knocking him out.

Dean waited with held breath as the sounds of the fight ceased. He quietly moved so he had one leg back, ready to propel him forward. He bunched his muscles as footsteps neared the door. He was ready for whoever was gonna open that door. The lock clicked, the doorknob turned, and Dean launched himself at the door. Sam would forgive him for not taking chances.

The door flew open, and Dean collided with Paul. The two of them tumbled into the room, the crowbar flying. And as luck would have it, Dean's head crashed into the bed frame as his momentum rolled him into it. The last thing he saw was Paul smiling victoriously at him.

**********************************************SPN***************************************************

Sam awoke to find his nightmare vision staring him in the face.

"Sam?" asked John.

Sam looked over to see John was, indeed, chained to the wall next to him.

"You okay?" asked John.

Sam nodded. "Yeah." He looked over to the middle of the room to see Dean unconscious, his feet chained together and hands shackled to the floor. There was duct tape over his mouth. "He wake up yet?"

"No," said John. "Paul said he hit the bed pretty hard."

"That he did," said Paul, walking into the room and closing the door. "I didn't even have to do anything. Guess I'm just lucky."

"Let him go," growled John.

"Oh, well, when you ask so nicely…no!" shouted Paul, brandishing his crowbar.

Sam huffed out a small chuckle. "You even know what the word means?"

Paul frowned at him. "What?"

"No," said Sam. "You even know what it means? I'm sure you've heard it a lot over the last eighteen years. No means no, douchebag."

Paul walked towards him and John, raising the crowbar. "You think this is a game?"

"Just let us go," said Sam.

"Oh, I don't think so," said Paul. "You guys have made my life a living hell."

"You did that good enough on your own," said John.

Paul looked at John, sneering at him. "Your son killed my brother. Then he goes and takes my life as well…sticking me in that prison. And that bullet you shot me with—that hurt."

"You deserved it," Sam spat at him.

Paul turned his head to look at Sam, glaring menacingly at him. "Really?" He walked over to Dean, standing over him with the crowbar raised. "And your brother? He murdered someone…doesn't he deserve it?"

"If Dean hadn't killed him, one of the other kids would have eventually," said John. "Don't blame him because your brother was a twisted dick."

Paul smiled sadistically. "Well…to each his own…" He looked down at Dean, gripping the crowbar tighter. "And we're about to find out what Dean's path in life has brought you…nothing but death…"

John and Sam stared at him in horror.

"I'm going to kill you all…" Paul said, smiling wickedly. "But first…" he looked down to Dean, who was beginning to stir, "I'm gonna break Dean…" he looked up at Sam and John, "right in front of you."

They looked down at Dean, who was slowly moving his head back and forth. Maybe if Dean could somehow get free, then—

"And he's not going anywhere," said Paul. He pulled a key out of his pocket, holding it up for them to see. "He's locked down tight."

Paul walked around in front of Dean, kneeling down. He placed the key and crowbar on the floor next to him and ran a hand along Dean's face. Dean flinched, pulling away from the hand. His eyes fluttered open, landing on Paul. He suddenly pulled his hands up to find they were chained. He quickly found his legs were similar. He glared up at Paul, unable to voice his anger through the tape.

"Oh, he's awake," said Paul. "That'll make this so much more fun."

Paul stood and walked around behind Dean so Sam and John could see properly. Dean's eyes landed on Sam and John and began sweeping the room.

"Leave him alone," John growled.

"Sorry," said Paul. "You lost your right to speak when you shot me."

Paul touched a hand to Dean's face, who closed his eyes and turned his face towards the floor and away from Paul. Paul ran his hand down Dean's face slowly, reaching his torso. Dean's eyes flew open, widening in fear. As Paul's hand reached lower and lower, Dean's breathing quickened its pace.

"Stop," said Sam, voicing what Dean was unable to. "Don't!"

Paul's hand reached Dean's midsection, and Dean gasped sharply, closing his eyes and beginning to tremble.

"No!" John yelled.

Paul began rubbing his palm up and down Dean's groin. Dean pulled his arms towards his chest, bringing his legs up towards him and trying to make himself as small as he could with Paul's hand in the way.

"Stop it!" Sam yelled.

Dean was downright shaking at this point, his eyes clenched shut tightly. Paul used his other hand to grab Dean's hair and force his head back. Dean's eyes flew open, and his hands shot out in front of him, scratching at the floor. His wide, terrified eyes flew over the whole room.

Paul leaned down next to Dean's head and _sniffed_ him, rubbing his face next to Dean's. Dean winced, closing his eyes as a lone tear escaped down his face.

"Mm, so good," whispered Paul. "I can see what Carl saw in you."

Paul released Dean's head, and Dean opened his eyes, bringing his arms back towards his chest. Paul removed his hand from Dean's midsection, and Dean pulled his legs up to his chest.

_No…_ Sam thought. _Not after all the progress we made…He was getting so much better…_

Paul began to run his hands slowly down Dean's back. Dean grimaced and whimpered—actually _whimpered_—closing his eyes.

"Dean!" said John. "Hey, look at me. Look at me."

Dean turned terrified eyes onto his father.

"That's it," said John. "Focus on me. Just focus on me."

Dean stared at him as Paul moved his hands lower. Dean's eyes seemed to plead with his father to save him. Paul reached Dean's backside, and Dean's whole body seemed to gasp. He inhaled sharply, slamming his eyes closed and jerking into a fetal position. He was trembling terribly now, his fists clenched to his chest.

Paul smiled in victory. "I think that ought to do it." He stood, smiling at Sam and John. "Enjoy your last moments together. It'll all be over soon."

Paul turned, exiting and slamming the door closed behind him, locking it. Sam and John looked down at the quivering ball on the floor.

"Dean…" John whispered. "God, I'm sorry…"

After a moment, Dean slowly raised his head. He looked shakily around the room, terrified eyes darting to each and every corner. His eyes fell on the closed door behind him, and he looked around the room again. Suddenly, his tremors ceased. He just completely stopped shaking. His face was no longer filled with fear, but with determination. He uncurled his body, almost casually. He got an elbow under him and grasped the duct tape. He ripped the duct tape off.

"What a moron," Dean muttered.

Sam and John stared in confusion as Dean lowered his collar with one hand and stuck his other down into his shirt. His face scrunched up in concentration as he seemed to be digging for something.

The next second, Dean pulled out a key—the key Paul had been brandishing. He held it up, shaking his head and laughing.

"That guy always was a bit dim," Dean chuckled as he proceeded to unlock the shackles around his wrists.

"Wait, you—" began Sam. "You weren't really freaking?"

Dean smiled up at them slyly, getting the shackles off. He sat up and moved on to his ankle shackles.

"You were acting?" asked John, stunned.

Dean stopped and looked up at them. "Hey, I know a trick or two."

John laughed as Dean went back to undoing his shackles. He should've seen it. When Paul had grabbed Dean's head, his hands hadn't been scratching at the floor; they'd been grabbing the key Paul had forgotten on the floor. Dean had been acting to keep Paul distracted.

Dean opened the shackles and headed over to Sam, unlocking his chains. He then unlocked John's shackles.

"Alright, we got one shot at this," Dean told them. "We pretend we're still locked up. Paul will try to kill me first in front of you. That's when I'll attack. You guys back me up."

"You got it, son," said John. He headed over to the table, grabbing his gun and putting it in his jacket.

Sam and John headed back to their chains, placing their hands back in the shackles. Dean closed them just enough that they looked locked. Dean turned and began heading back to the middle of the room. They heard footsteps outside the door, and Dean hurried to fake-fasten the shackles at his ankles. He curled back into the position he was in, the other chains pulled up to his chest, but remaining on the floor. Dean hid his free hands by bringing them up to his chest. He was curled into himself so tight that you couldn't see them anyway.

The door unlocked and opened. Paul stepped into the room, carrying a syringe. John and Sam glared angrily at him, still assuming the role of pissed off family. Dean slammed his eyes closed and began trembling a little.

Paul held up the syringe. "Potassium chloride. Not sure how medically savvy you fellas are, but it's an essential electrolyte in the body…except in high doses, such as this. One injection of this size will cause—"

"Cardiac arrest…" Sam whispered in horror. He was trying to play the part of a concerned brother about to watch his brother be killed, but he couldn't help being scared for Dean's safety. What if he got pricked while fighting Paul?

"Yes, just a few short moments and my brother's killer…your dear brother and son…will be dead," Paul taunted. He knelt behind Dean, glaring down at him. "Say goodnight, Dean…"

Paul plunged his hand down towards Dean. Dean whipped his arm over, grabbing hold of Paul's wrist. Paul looked in shock from Dean's un-shackled hand to Dean's royally pissed off, "screw you" face.

"Goodnight, dick," Dean growled.

He threw Paul's hand into his own face. As Paul fell back in pain, he dropped the syringe. Dean jumped up to his feet, kicking Paul across the face. Sam and John rushed forward, John drawing his gun. Paul kicked Dean's legs out from under him, and Dean hit the floor hard, the floor colliding into his mending ribs. Paul quickly grabbed a hold of Dean, dragging him up onto his knees.

"Don't move!" Paul warned.

Sam and John froze, staring at Paul and Dean. Paul had slipped a knife out of his jacket, holding it up to Dean's throat with his right hand. John stayed where he was, gun aimed at Paul.

"Drop it!" Paul said, pressing the knife further into Dean's throat.

Dean made eye contact with his father and subtly nodded. John nodded back, slowly lowering the gun. He set the gun on the ground, making very slow movements.

"That's more like it," said Paul. "I was trying to make it painless…mostly." He moved his mouth closer towards Dean's ear. "Now it's going to hurt."

Dean flung his right arm up, grabbing hold of Paul's knife hand. He used his momentum to pull the arm forward as he hunched over a little. He brought his left hand up and across his chest, punching Paul in the gut. Paul, winded, loosened his right arm a little—just enough that Dean could let go of his right hand. Dean then used that arm to send his elbow back into Paul's face. Paul's head snapped back, and Dean turned towards Paul, scooting out of the way.

John raised his gun and shot Paul in the chest three times. Paul staggered with each bullet, falling to the floor. Sam, Dean and John stared down at Paul, who now lay dead on the floor.

Dean stood over him, not believing what he was seeing. For so long, he had been oppressed by the Tallands brothers. Just the thought of Paul still being out there made his blood run cold. And now…now they could finally close that chapter of their past and move on to the next.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

**STOP! I posted two chapters today! Go back to CHAPTER 17 if you haven't read it yet!**

**THE FINAL CHAPTER! It was so hard to say goodbye to this story. I was surprised. I found myself feeling how Dean feels at the end.**

**Wow…the end of an era. I can't believe I made it. I'd like to thank the academy…and my parents…and all you fans out there that made this story possible! (teary, humble face)**

**Ha-ha! Just kidding. Enjoy the final chapter!**

They called the police, who took Paul's body and the Winchesters' statements. John, of course, would not be charged for Paul's murder. It was the same with Carl's death—self-defense. The Winchesters were sent home, where they went directly to sleep. The next morning, Sam called off work just so he could relax with his family. They were finally free. They had no Paul to worry about, no new news Dean would have to tell them, nothing.

Over the next week, Dean began getting Christmas greeting cards. One day, it was a card from the Pennins'. Then it was the Franklins, the Santens, the Hollands and the Matthews'. Each one of the families that Dean had basically returned a kid to had sent him a holiday card. They wished him and his family holiday greetings and thanked him for putting their family back together. Included in each envelope was a note saying how they were all doing.

Matt had been taking some classes so he could get a GED. So far, he was doing pretty well in them. He was taking some time to get situated into everything again. After all, he'd been gone for eighteen years.

Tucker had also been taking some classes for a GED and even passed his driver's test. His parents were buying him a new car for Christmas—although he didn't know that yet. They did mention that he was a little depressed about having missed graduation last year, but he was happy to be back now.

Jesse's parents had applied for his local high school, and he'd been accepted into the sophomore class. He would have to take some classes to catch up, but the principal was very optimistic. Jesse had even made it onto the varsity basketball team.

Kevin made it into his middle school—seventh grade. His grades for the admission tests were a little low, but that was to be expected after being missing for six years. He would need to be tutored in the more difficult courses, but he would likely be back to normal education within the year.

David, of course, had only missed three years of school. He was readily accepted back into elementary school—fourth grade. His friends were happy he was back, and his parents threw a party at the house. They invited everyone in the neighborhood and all his friends from school. David couldn't have been happier.

Dean wrote back to each of them, telling them that he was happy to hear that they were doing okay and how his life was going, also. He told them about how supportive his family had been—all the things they'd done for him. He told them of how John and Sam had gotten jobs temporarily so Dean wouldn't have to move until he was ready—which he would be in a month.

Sam, John and he had talked the day after Paul died, and Dean told them he was ready to be hunting again. After all, nothing was holding him—or them—back anymore. They agreed that they would begin hunting right after New Years.

Dean also told the families that he would keep in touch with them. He told them that his job required him to travel a lot so he wouldn't have a stable address. But he would keep their addresses with him so he could write to them. He also gave them his e-mail address that Sam had helped him set up a couple weeks ago.

Sam and John, meanwhile, were finishing up their preparations for Christmas morning. They couldn't wait to give Dean the Christmas he'd never forget. They had already told their bosses that they wouldn't be back after New Years. And they were spending their last legit money on their plans.

The week passed by quicker than they realized, and before they knew it, Christmas Eve was here.

"Alright, guys," said Dean, heading towards the stairs. "I'm beat. I'm gonna head to sleep."

"Alright," said John. "Sleep good, okay?"

"Yeah, I will," said Dean, heading upstairs and disappearing into the hallway.

John and Sam waited to hear Dean's door close. They smiled at each other.

"Ready?" asked John.

"Yeah," said Sam. "Just don't wake him up. You know him. He'll come charging down the stairs, ready to kill something."

John chuckled, and they headed out to the Impala to begin their plans.

*************************************************SPN*****************************************************************

Dean woke up, looking up at the sun streaming in through the window. He frowned, standing and walking to the window. He pulled back the curtains and stared outside as snow fell steadily from the sky. He smiled, looking down to see the ground had accumulated about six inches overnight.

Dean grabbed his robe from the bottom of the bed. His brother had bought him a robe a month ago as the temperatures outside had dropped. Sam insisted that it was too cold inside to walk around in just pajamas. Dean hadn't worn it before, but it was too cold now. And it was Christmas. If any day called for sitting around in your pajamas, it was today.

Dean pulled the robe on, tying it, and walked into the hallway. A wonderful smell began filtering up into the second floor.

_That smells like bacon,_ Dean thought as his mouth began watering.

He headed down the stairs, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. As he came to the bottom of the stairs and lowered his hand, he rounded the corner and stopped in shock, his mouth hanging open.

There was a Christmas tree in the living room next to the TV. It was decorated simply with some small light bulbs, what looked like a small package of string tinsel, about five ornaments, and a small star on top. About ten or so wrapped boxes sat underneath the tree, all wrapped in the same paper.

"Merry Christmas!"

Dean turned to see Sam and John in the doorway to the kitchen, smiling.

"What's this?" asked Dean.

"It's Christmas," said Sam.

Dean looked at the tree and back at them, stunned.

"We wanted to give you a real Christmas for once," John told him.

Dean looked over at the tree and down at the presents. His eyes stared sadly at them.

"What's wrong?" asked John, confused as to why this would upset Dean.

Dean looked sadly back at them, embarrassed. "It's just—we never really celebrated Christmas when we were younger. I didn't expect you guys to…" John was still confused as to why that would make Dean sad. Dean shifted on his feet. "I didn't get you guys anything."

John stepped closer to Dean, putting his hands on his son's shoulder. "Dean, we have you back. You're here with us. That's better than any Christmas gift I've ever gotten. You've already given us everything we could ever want." John pulled Dean into his arms. "Thank you so much."

Dean hugged his father back. After a moment, they pulled apart.

Sam walked up to him also. "Yeah, I already have my Christmas gift right here." He patted Dean on the shoulder. "Now, I just want to return the favor."

Dean didn't know what to say to them. It was more than he ever expected to find when he walked downstairs this morning.

"Breakfast?" asked John.

Dean smiled, nodding. "Yeah."

They ate breakfast, talking and laughing together. When the dishes were cleaned up off the table, Sam and John ushered Dean into the living room. They all sat down, Sam next to the tree so he could hand Dean his gifts. Dean felt a little awkward opening the presents. 'Cause, opening presents on Christmas morning next to the tree with your family? That's something little kids usually did. It was a little outside his comfort zone. But, whatever—his family wanted to return the favor he'd given them by coming back into their lives. Who was he to refuse?

Sam handed him the first gift. It was a somewhat large rectangular box, moderately heavy. Dean pulled the wrapping paper off and opened the box. Inside, a brown leather jacket lay folded—a familiar brown leather jacket.

Dean looked up at John, shocked. "Your jacket?"

John smiled. "Yep. It's yours."

"Dad, I—" Dean didn't know what to say. "Thanks."

"Welcome," said John with a smile.

Dean put the jacket over the back of the couch, putting the box on the floor. Sam handed Dean the next one this one was smaller. It was what looked like a small jewelry box.

"What's this?" asked Dean. "A bracelet?"

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. "Just open it."

Dean unwrapped the box and opened it. Inside laid a necklace. It was a black cord with a gold amulet on the end of it. The amulet looked like a small head, with two curved tusks coming out of the sides. Dean looked up at Sam.

"Uncle Bobby gave it to me when I was a kid," said Sam. "Said it was real special. I kept it for a while, thinking I would give it to you or Dad someday. But then…" Sam shrugged, looking down at the amulet. "It, uh…means protection."

Dean looked down at the amulet, looking at it in a whole new light. "Thanks, Sam. I…I love it."

Dean immediately pulled it out of the box and slipped it on over his head. As the amulet settled against his chest, he was struck by how _right_ it felt there…like he'd always been missing it. Truth of the matter is, he probably _was_ missing it. Sam probably would've given it to him _years_ ago.

Sam handed him another gift. It was a tall box, and it was heavy. Dean unwrapped it, opening the box to find two books inside. He pulled them out and looked at them.

They were photo albums. The first one was filled with pictures of John and Mary over the years, and pictures of Dean growing up in their house in Lawrence, and pictures of Sam being brought home from the hospital. It also included pictures of Sam, Dean and John on the road when they were kids—all up until Dean was eleven.

The second photo album wasn't as full. It was pictures of the past two months: Dean and Sam and John having fun over the days. Them at the amusement park, them at the movies, them hanging out on the weekends, Sam and Dean training in the backyard, Dean and John fixing up the Impala together…

It was their life…before Dean was taken and after. Dean looked up at the two of them, tears almost—but not quite—filling his eyes.

"Thank you, guys," said Dean. "This is…this is awesome."

Sam and John smiled at him. They knew that would be a success. It was a record of the good times Dean could look back on whenever he was having a hard time with the memories.

Sam handed Dean the next gift. It looked like a shoebox. Dean unwrapped it and opened the box. It was full of cassette tapes. He looked at each title along the sides: Metallica, AC/DC, Motorhead, Black Sabbath, Van Halen, Rush, Foreigner, Def Leppard, Kansas…Each cassette was a band that Dean absolutely loved. And they were cassettes! They weren't these stupid CDs Sam had told him about.

"Dad, Sam, it's…" began Dean. "Oh, my God! These are…these are fantastic!"

"Thought you'd like them," said Sam. "Took us forever to track down actual working tapes."

"Thank you!" said Dean. "I can't wait to listen to them!"

"Might be sooner than you think," said John.

Dean frowned at him, looking at the size of the last package. "You hid a whole tape player in there, did you?"

John laughed and grabbed the small package.

Dean frowned. _They buy me a ring, too?_

It was that small. John handed Dean the box, and Dean unwrapped it. He opened the box to find a set of keys inside. Dean grabbed them and held them up.

"You bought me a car?" asked Dean.

John smiled and stood, urging Dean to stand as well. He and Sam walked Dean over to the front door and opened it. They stepped out onto the porch—not far; it was freezing in the snow.

Dean frowned as he spotted a truck in the driveway behind the Impala, which was parked right in front of the porch. The Taurus was nowhere in sight.

"A truck?" asked Dean, eyes wide.

_I can't believe they bought me a whole truck!_ Dean thought, amazed.

"Nope," said John. "Not a truck."

Dean looked at him, frowning. John pointed down in front of the porch, and Dean followed his finger towards the Impala. Dean looked down at the keys and back at the Impala, eyes even wider.

"You're joking," said Dean.

"No," said John. "We sold Sam's car so I could buy a truck, and I'm giving the Impala to you."

Dean just continued to stare at the Impala. "You're joking…"

John and Sam laughed.

"I'm not joking," said John. "It's yours. Well, mostly yours. But Sam's, too. You two are gonna need something to go hunting in together."

Dean looked at him. "You're…giving me…the Impala?"

John laughed. "Yes, Dean, the Impala is yours."

Dean looked back at the car, a smile beginning to stretch over his face. He walked forward and down the porch steps, totally ignoring the snow. He approached the Impala, staring lovingly at it.

Sam and John watched, chuckling, as Dean admired his new car. He'd always loved the Impala, and now…it was his.

"Dean, get back inside before you freeze," John called, heading back in the front door.

Dean looked up at him and Sam, heading back up the steps towards the door. Sam followed him into the house. Dean put the keys to his new Impala inside the pocket of his new leather jacket.

"Thank you so much, guys," said Dean. "I can't believe you did all this for me."

"It was nothing," said Sam. "We wanted to."

"Well, I know what I want to do," said Dean, giving Sam a playful smirk. He darted up the stairs, calling over his shoulder. "Meet you outside!"

Sam smiled and followed Dean up the stairs. Both of them were dressed in jeans, boots, layers of shirts and jackets, and gloves within fifteen minutes. They raced outside, picking up snow and bunching it together, having a snowball fight. John watched them with a smile from the window for a while before heading to start lunch.

Sam and Dean enjoyed the snow for a good hour, relishing in their lost childhood. They hadn't had many chances like this when they were kids—a bastard of a kidnapper separating them temporarily.

"Ow, hey!" Sam exclaimed as Dean socked him in the head with a snowball.

"Ha-ha!" Dean laughed. "Too slow, Sammy!"

"Not for long!" Sam shouted back, aiming a snowball for Dean's face and hitting his target. "Now who's slow?"

"Oh, you'll pay for that!" Dean shouted, attacking again.

"Boys!" John yelled through the front door. "Lunch!"

Dean and Sam looked at each other. Their jackets and jeans were powdered with snow, and their faces were red from the cold and the exertion.

"Truce?" asked Sam with a smile.

Dean smiled. "Yeah. At least for the next few hours."

Sam wrapped an arm around Dean's shoulders as they headed back into the house.

They spent the rest of the day just taking it easy, sipping eggnog and watching bad Christmas movies. The days before New Years were spent getting ready to go hunting again. Dean took the Impala out at least once every day, just for a drive and usually with Sam. He listened to his tapes while he enjoyed the feel of the engine.

New Years came and went, and the Winchesters began packing their things into their respective cars.

"So, we got any hunts lined up?" asked Dean.

"Well, you guys are headed to Jericho, California," said John. "There's been some guys going missing along a two-lane blacktop over the past few years. Over the last few months, they've been getting more frequent. In October, Troy Squire went missing. Then James Noting and Kevin Parson in November. Billy Remler a week ago. You guys go did around, see what's going on."

"What about you?" asked Sam.

"I've been keeping my eye out for anything suspicious," John told them. "Our whole lives, we've been searching for the demon that killed Mary. Not a trace, nothing. Till about a couple months ago. For the first time, I picked up a trail."

"A trail?" asked Dean.

"Yeah," said John. "That's right. The demon must have come out of hiding or hibernation."

"Alright, so what's this trail you found?" asked Dean.

"It starts in Arizona, then New Jersey, California," answered John. "Houses burn down to the ground. It's going after families, just like it went after us."

"Families with infants?" asked Sam.

"Yeah," said John. "The night of the kid's six-month birthday."

"I was six months old that night?" asked Sam.

"Exactly six months," John told him.

"So, basically, this demon is going after these kids for some reason," said Sam. "Same way it came for me? So, Mom's death…it's because of me?"

"We don't know that, Sam," said Dean.

"Oh, really?" said Sam. "Then how else do you explain it? I mean, the demon comes on the night of these kids' six month birthday…just like me. It sounds like this demon was after the kids."

"Sam, Mom's death was not your fault," Dean insisted. "We are gonna find that son of a bitch, and we're gonna kill him, you hear me?"

Sam nodded as John resumed his hunting plans.

"Look, I wish I had more answers," said John. "I do."

"Alright, so how do we find it again before it hits?" asked Dean.

"There are signs," John explained. "Look, it took me a while to see the pattern, but in the days before these fires, signs crops up in the area—cattle deaths, uh, temperature fluctuations, electrical storms. And then I went back and checked, and…"

"These things happened in Lawrence," said Dean.

John nodded. "A week before your mother died."

"You're gonna hunt this demon while Dean and I take smaller hunts?" asked Sam.

John nodded again. "Yeah. I'm gonna need to handle this hunt on my own. I'll call you boys when I get close. In the meantime, you two keep an eye out for other hunts. And stick together; watch out for each other, okay?"

"Yes, sir," said Sam and Dean together.

John pulled Dean into his arms and then Sam. "You boys take care of yourselves."

"We will," said Sam. "See you around, Dad."

"Yeah, see ya," said Dean.

John got into his truck, taking one last look at his sons before heading out of the driveway. Sam got into the passenger seat as Dean climbed into the driver's seat. Dean stared up at the house, his one **true** home in years. It was the only place he'd known as a home since he'd been taken. It was where he'd found his family again.

"You okay?" asked Sam.

Dean looked over at his brother. Sure, he was giving up one home, but he was gaining another.

"Yeah, I'm okay," Dean answered with a smile.

Dean plunged his key into the ignition, turning it on. The Impala purred to life, and Dean smiled as he pushed a tape into the tape deck. AC/DC began blaring on the stereo. Dean let the music blast, smiling at Sam. Dean pulled out of the driveway and onto the road, heading for the open road.

"_Back in black! I hit the sack! I've been too long! I'm glad to be back! Yes, I'm let loose from the noose that's kept me hanging about! I keep looking at the sky 'cause it's getting me high! Forget the hearse, 'cause I'll never die! I got nine lives! Cat's eyes! Using every one of 'em and running wild! 'Cause I'm back! Yes, I'm back! Well, I'm back! Well, I'm back! Back! Well, I'm back in black! Yes, I'm back in black!"_

Dean hit the gas the accelerated down the highway as he and Sam headed off towards California for a hunt, AC/DC echoing behind them as they drove.

**THE END!**


	19. Chapter 19

**WARNING!**

**Public service announcement!**

I am not quitting fanfiction! I am currently working on printing and binding my current stories for my storage. When I am finished with that, I will work on my stories again.

I will first do a songfic (my first one). Then a season three story. Then a mermaid story. Then Don't You Cry No More 3. Then The Winchester That Wasn't 2. I'm excited about all of them!

I'll see you guys in a few weeks!


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